


Subtle Perfection

by BiscuitsForPotter



Series: Subtle Perfection Universe [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Lucius Malfoy, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Ballet dancer Hermione, Draco is a little asshole sometimes, Emotional Roller Coaster, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up Together, Ice Skating, Ice skater Draco, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Snape is their coach, Supportive Grangers, Watch out for all the other cameos, Winter Olympics, bed sharing, dramione - Freeform, ice dance, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 220,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24782089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiscuitsForPotter/pseuds/BiscuitsForPotter
Summary: Out on the ice, anything seems possible. Especially when they're skating together. Even their most impossible dream: Olympic Gold. A Muggle AU Dramione story.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Subtle Perfection Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048435
Comments: 909
Kudos: 646





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my newest Dramione WIP! This story has been cooking for 2 years - ever since I watched the Ice Dancing finals live in the arena at the Pyeongchang Olympics. I am so, so excited to take you on this journey with me. 
> 
> I am anticipating about 35 chapters, one published each Wednesday. I currently have over half written. 
> 
> My excitement is overflowing guys. I'm genuinely in love with this story, and I hope you'll fall in love with me. 
> 
> Major, major thanks to my incredible Alpha, Graceful Lioness. Not only has she helped bring this story to the next level, she has also put up with me bombarding her with ice dancing videos for nearly a year. 
> 
> Without further ado, I present: Subtle Perfection.
> 
> PS: Pay attention to the dates at the top of every chapter!

_**February 2014** _

Breathe in. Breathe out.

From just beyond the metal doors to his right, he could hear the roar of the crowd and the soaring music. Fleur and Roger were surely killing it on the ice like they always did. The two of them had hardly made any mistakes while skating together since they were kids, so why would the pressure of today get to them?

He was almost glad for the French pair.

Almost.

It was the Olympics, after all.

He wanted to claim the gold for the UK more than he had ever wanted anything in his entire life. It was his dream, and it would take more than his French friends skating well to distract him.

The doors opened, and the moment the seal was broken, the noise from the stadium grew exponentially louder. Draco could hear the sultry tune of a  _ Chicago  _ song blaring through the speakers. Severus poked his pale face in from the metal doors. “Five minutes, you two,” he informed them.

Draco could see the nerves in Severus’s face. He had licked his lips three times in a matter of seconds and his skin was paler than usual. And that was saying something. If his coach looked nervous, then how must he look? Probably like he was about to be sick.

Severus shut the door with a snap, and the room fell into silence once more.

He shot a glance at Hermione.  _ His _ Hermione. His skating partner of thirteen years.

She looked beautiful as always. Her petal pink costume for this season was alluring, much as all her costumes were. This particular costume had a lovely slit in the skirt that led the way up most of her thigh. He would love nothing more than to run his hand up and up and up…

_ No.  _

Draco shook himself mentally. He would have growled if he had been alone. He couldn’t think about her that way. Not anymore. How could he? Not after the way she had betrayed him… betrayed _ them _ .

Shooting her another glance, he took in the expression on her face.

She looked rather green.

The vindictive side of him—the side of him he was actively trying to push down for now—thought one, single word:  _ good. _

Shaking himself mentally, Draco sighed. This wasn’t the time to get into it. Not now. Not when they were minutes away from performing their free dance live on television for the world to see from the Sochi Olympics. It didn’t matter what their personal issues were. They were a team—a professional partnership.

_ And that’s all, _ he reminded himself bitterly.

He cleared his throat. “Ready to go, Hermione?”

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with nervous anticipation. Her fingers were worrying the tassels of her sparkly, pink costume. She swallowed visibly.

“Yeah, all right.”

Draco broke eye contact almost immediately. If he looked too long, he might feel his heart actually break. Again.

Severus poked his head inside again. “Let’s go. We’re at the three-minute mark.”

Like an olive branch, Draco held out his hand. Hermione accepted it, and he pulled her to her skate-clad feet. They would have to show a united front from the moment they stepped into the spotlight. Cameras would be on them every second.

“We’ve got this,” he whispered in her ear as they carefully made their way to the side of the rink. “We just have to perform like we did at the Grand Prix.”

He felt her nod.

They arrived at the warm-up bench just outside the rink and removed the covers over their blades. Fleur and Roger were just finishing up their routine; they appeared flawless. Fleur’s delicate figure and Roger’s domineering presence made them an alluring couple. No doubt those two were the biggest competition they would have at these Olympics.

But he and Hermione were going to skate better. They had been receiving higher scores all season, so why should today be any different?

As the music swelled to its conclusion, Draco began his pre-skate rituals. Jump on the left foot twice. Jump on the right foot twice. Jump together three times. Seven jumps altogether. His breathing was coming in sharp gasps now.

Applause filled the stadium. Fleur and Roger were taking their bows, wide grins painting their faces. Draco knew that look. He had worn that look before. Confidence. Success. Joy—no,  _ elation _ .

When he looked within, all he could see was nerves and bitterness. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Fleur and Roger skated their way over, opening the padded walls of the rink.

“Congratulations. Your routine looked really great,” Hermione said, reaching out a hand.

“Oh,  _ merci _ !” cried Fleur. “And good luck to you!” The French ice dancer patted Hermione’s arm before sheathing her blades and making her way with Roger to the Kiss and Cry station.

It was go time. Two minutes until they took the ice.

“Right. Listen up.” Severus motioned for them to huddle with him. “Your short dance was excellent and you’re neck-and-neck with those two. But I don’t need to tell you that.” He glanced between the two of them. Draco took the opportunity to shoot a look at Hermione. She was staring at the ground. “You’re the best damn skaters I’ve ever worked with. Even when you were kids, I knew it, even if I didn’t tell you so it would go to your heads. Remember how good you are. Put all your strength into your lifts. Watch the angle of your arms. And above all,  _ passion! _ ”

Draco nodded along, though he wasn’t sure if his ears were working any longer. The crowd around him had become muffled, as though he was listening to their applause underwater.

A great roar erupted, driving Draco from his own head. He looked over at the Kiss and Cry station. Fleur and Roger were hugging, ecstasy radiating off of them.

“Combined score 197.83,” Hermione hissed from beside him. Draco squinted up at the board. She had read it right.

_ Shit. _

“Their season best,” he responded grimly.

“Don’t let them get in your head,” Severus warned them. “Your score was nearly identical at the Grand Prix Final last month. Just go out there and skate your best. Skate for each other.”

Draco took a deep breath and swallowed his ego. He looked at Hermione.

“Let’s do this.”

He reached out his arms expectantly toward his partner. She hesitated, but stepped into his embrace after a moment. From the moment Hermione’s ear laid against his chest, her hands pressed into his back, it was like coming home. They’d been holding each other for years, and Draco couldn’t deny the rightness of feeling her in his arms. Even with everything that happened, he wanted so much for  _ this _ to be their reality. 

“It’s just us out there,” he whispered.

“Just us.”

He felt Hermione’s soft breath on his chest, warm and erratic.

“Listen.” She looked up, her eyes shining with desperation. “I want to say something, Draco.”

“No,” he hissed, his stomach roiling. “It’s not the time.”

“But I need to say it,” she insisted. “I need to apologize.”

He rested his chin atop her head. “And I want to hear it. But not now. Now we need to focus.”

“I just—” She moved her hands so her fingers were splayed on her chest. “I just want to get it all out on the table.”

“Now?” Draco drew back slightly. “Hermione, we’re about to skate.”

“I know.” Hermione gave a little sniffle and Draco felt his innards turn to lead. This was not good. She couldn’t go out on the ice in tears. He had to fix this  _ now. _

“Look at me, Hermione,” he whispered, moving his hand to cup her jaw. She obeyed, her chin lifting. When he saw her eyes, they were swimming with tears. “Let’s talk. I promise we’ll talk. After, though. Let’s go out there, skate our best, and then we’ll talk all night if you like.”

Hermione nodded in return, taking deep, calming breaths.

“All night?”

“All night. Just like when we were kids.” 

Severus chose that moment to pop back over. He held the barrier to the rink open for them to make their grand entrance. “Right. Let’s go.”

Draco stepped back, letting his hand drop to grab Hermione’s. Inhaling again, he plastered a big smile on his face. To his right, he saw Hermione do the same thing. Years in the public eye had trained them for a moment just like this. For the moment they’d been waiting for.

It was time.

They skated out onto the ice to tumultuous applause. As their names were announced over the loudspeaker in English, French, and Russian, Draco took in the crowd. Union Jack flags had popped up all over the stadium. Some had even made posters with their faces and their team nickname,  _ ‘Dramione’.  _ It might have surprised him when he was younger, but to see this level of support today only strengthened his determination.

Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger of the United Kingdom were favored to win gold in Ice Dancing at the 2014 Sochi Olympics, after all.

As they settled into their starting positions in the center of the ice, silence fell over the crowd. Draco was familiar with this silence—the great, swelling pause before their routines began. Though he had heard these silences countless times in his twenty-three years, they always seemed to unnerve him.

Normally at this moment, he would look to Hermione for strength and comfort. Normally, her chocolate eyes would radiate the confidence he needed—the confidence in him—to skate with precision and poise.

But not today. Today, their connection seemed slightly severed. Damaged. Torn.

The music began, the sound of the oboe and strings coursing through his veins. He had heard this song a thousand times in the last several months. He knew every lull and crescendo by heart. The words—the feel of the song had soaked into his very soul. Looking at Hermione, he knew that this was the moment—the moment they had dreamed of for thirteen years. In her eyes, he saw a determination that mirrored his own. This was it. 

At once, Draco began to move, his muscles conditioned to bend and twist to the exact rhythms and notes that had dictated his life for the past eight months. The narrative of the song drove his movements; his arm wrapped around her waist as he began to lead her in a foxtrot across the ice.

As they danced, the world faded away once more. Like their pre-skate mantra, it was just them. It had always been just them, ever since they were little. And he wasn’t sure if Hermione had always known it, but he had: everything they had done together had led to this moment, here at the Olympics.

Everything. Their successes. Their failures. Their laughter. Their tears. 

_ Even… _

As they transitioned into their twizzle sequence, Draco re-focused on the here and now. He wanted to remember everything about today—everything about the way the crowd looked and how Hermione’s smile grew whenever she spun on the ice. She had always liked spins. That much had been obvious from the moment he had first watched her skate. 

When they skated, Hermione was his whole world. She was his everything. He knew she felt the same about him. And no matter how mad he was at her—no matter how much they had to figure out in their personal life—on the ice, their partnership was solid. Always had been. Always would be.

They came back together after their twizzles, their bodies close and nearly intertwined. Round the ice they skated; he led and she followed mere inches from him, their eyes never losing contact. His hand held tight to the small of Hermione’s back. The feel of her beneath his fingers kept him grounded. Kept him focused. Nothing else mattered. Only this. 

Three minutes in, and Draco could feel his muscles begin to strain. Just one more to go. Four minutes was a long time to skate with such focus and athleticism, even after all these years. He was so close.  _ They _ were so close. The song began to swell. Draco let the music fill his body. This was it.

Their keystone lift was fast approaching. It was the part of the dance that always took the audience’s breath away—the moment that required all his strength and concentration. It was also the moment that would surely secure their gold. The music swelled around them, and the vocalist faded away. All Draco could hear was the blood pounding in his ears and the sound of his own breathing.

Draco looked into Hermione’s eyes. They shone with determination and trust. As they skated backward, hands held, arms stretched out between them, they felt the beat together.

He released her, and she spun just out of his reach before stretching her arms out to him once more. Hermione skated into his arms, and he prepared to catch her around the waist and thigh. This particular lift required him to pass her around various points of his body. He had executed it perfectly at each competition to raucous applause. This time would be no different.

He caught Hermione with precision and began the practiced lift, passing her around his torso as he spun. She stayed balanced along his body as they relinquished their hands, holding them to the sky in a great show of trust. Even through his focus, Draco could hear the crowd gasp with delight. As the music reached its climax, Draco prepared to transition to the second part of the lift. He shifted Hermione in his arms. 

It only took a second. 

From the moment he began the transition, something felt off. It could have been the timing. It could have been that the pick at the front of his skate caught on something. Or perhaps, their issues off the rink had finally caught up with them. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what went wrong.

All he knew was that one moment, he felt Hermione solid in his arms, and the next, she was slipping through his fingers.

The world froze as she dropped. He saw her fall in slow motion, all the air leaving his lungs as she hit the ice with a thud. The entire stadium gasped in unison.

There was a singular, brief, horrifying moment where Draco thought all was lost. The possibilities of medics and ended careers flashed in his mind. It was one thing to fall during a performance, but during this one? During their Olympic Free Dance? 

Draco’s pity party was interrupted by reality. Hermione had thankfully landed on her side, and had pushed herself off the ice in two seconds, scrambling to her feet with all the grace she could muster. It seemed there would be no time to fret or to complain. They had to finish their routine. Hermione was already transitioning to the next sequence. Draco followed her lead, pushing on with her. 

Inside, he had never felt like more of a failure.

They managed to finish their routine without further error, though it mattered not. Despite the polite applause, in that moment nothing could be clearer: their vision of an Olympic victory was dead. They, the favorites to win gold, had failed.  _ He _ had failed. As they took their final bows to a shell-shocked stadium, Draco felt his face burn with shame. 

Thirteen years together, and it had all been for naught. Their dream was all over now. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's go back in time, shall we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy wow, you guys! What a response to the first chapter! I am completely and utterly blown away. THANK YOU! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this next chapter, which might not go where you think it's going. 
> 
> Remember - keep an eye on the dates at the beginning of the chapter. 
> 
> Major, major thanks to Graceful Lioness!

**May 2001**

Draco huffed and leaned his head onto the rear car window. The weather may have been lovely outside his mother’s black town car, but inside, it seemed that a stormcloud was following the ten year-old around. 

“Oh, cheer up, darling,” his mother cooed from beside him. “Ballet is critical for you to learn if you want to improve your skating. And improving your skating will—”

“Get me one step closer to Olympic gold, I know.” Draco frowned and blew on a strand of white-blond hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. “I just don’t understand why I have to train every day. I’d rather just spend that time on the ice.” 

Mother clicked her tongue at him. “Draco, your father and I only have your best interests at heart. We know what it takes to be champions, and now we are passing the knowledge onto you.” She reached a hand heavy with expensive rings out and wiped some invisible dirt from his face. 

He swatted her hand away and prayed for the return of sullen silence. What was Mother really doing today, anyway? Accompanying him to a lesson? His mother never attended these sorts of things. She rarely even attended his competitions. Her very presence made his head ache with suspicion, and now she wanted to talk? All he wanted to do was to sulk a bit before he had to put on a smile for his first ballet class. Was that so much to ask? 

Apparently it was. His mother spoke again after only twenty seconds of silence. 

“Maybe, if you’re good for your instructor, Mr. Dobbs can take you out for ice cream after. Would you like that?” 

“I’m not five, mother,” Draco groaned. “I’m nearly _ eleven. _ I don’t need to eat ice cream with the butler as a consolation prize. I just want to get through ballet as quickly as possible so I don’t have to constantly double up on practice. Now will you please leave me be?” 

His mother, the legendary silver-medalist figure skater Narcissa Malfoy sniffed in distaste, but moments later, Draco heard the telltale rustle of a newspaper. He sighed in relief. Though only a few minutes of the car ride remained, he would finally be able to think in peace. 

Something was definitely  _ off _ about his parents’ sudden insistence that he take up ballet. Until this very moment, his entire life had been figure skating; everyday after school, he practiced with a private coach for three hours. Amongst the other boys his age and in his region, he was widely considered to be the best. 

And it wasn’t his opinion. It was a fact. His father had said so, after all. 

His father knew everything there was to know about winning gold medals, so Draco trusted him. After all, that was the goal, wasn’t it? Standing on the first-place platform for the whole world to see; to be known as the best by everyone, everywhere. 

He could imagine it— _ had _ imagined it many times. When he was just four years-old, shortly after his parents had explained the Olympics to him for the first time, he had gone back to his room and coloured a gold medal with his crayons and cut it out with his safety scissors. He had then put the flimsy thing around his neck and stood on his toy box, imagining the roar of the crowd as he stepped onto a real podium with a real medal. 

He still kept that stupid paper medal in his desk. Although the thought of anyone finding out about it mortified him, he still liked to take it out and stand on the same toybox—now repurposed to hold skating equipment—when he was sure no one was nearby. When he stood on that box, the sloppily-coloured prop around his neck, he still liked to imagine that crowd and the rush of adrenaline that would come with being crowned the best ice skater in the world. 

Pretending like that kept him weirdly focused on his goal. And up until now, he had never questioned the things his parents had signed him up to do to make that goal a reality.

But this? This was different. 

Something about these ballet lessons felt extremely fishy to Draco. Not just ‘why ballet?’ but ‘why now?’ Why would his parents insist that he try something new when he would begin to compete internationally in only two years?

Confusing thoughts swirled in Draco’s head as they pulled up to the dance studio. Draco gathered a small duffle bag in his arms as Mr. Dobbs opened the car door for him. He ducked under the butler’s arm and was about to dash inside when he heard his mother clearing her voice.

“Wait for me, young man,” Mother called as she emerged from the back seat. “I’m coming in with you today. I’d like to speak to the director while you’re in class.” 

Draco furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“Never you mind. Now let’s go or you’ll be late.” 

Grumbling but unwilling to disobey a direct order, Draco adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder and trudged behind his mother. 

The studio lobby felt cheery enough. Mostly mums, but a few dads as well, sat in chairs that lined the lobby walls. Off to the right hand side stood the welcome desk; behind it, a stern-looking older woman was rearranging a stack of papers. His mother cleared her throat. The woman looked up. 

“May I help you?” she asked in a thick Scottish accent, peering over her spectacles. 

“My son, Draco, is here for his first ballet lesson. And may I ask, are you Minerva McGonagall, Head Ballet Mistress and Director here?” 

The older woman stood up straighter—if that was at all possible—and set her stack of papers down. “Yes, that would be me. And you are…?”

“Narcissa Malfoy.”

His mother said her name with practiced coolness. So often, a mention of her name would garner whispers, praise, and sometimes even fawning. Draco had seen people of all kinds practically fall to their knees when his parents walked in the room. Looking at her face right now, Draco could see right through her neutral expression. 

She wanted something. His mother always wanted something. Draco had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. 

However, after only a moment, it became clear that his mother hadn’t gotten the response she wanted. 

Instead of her eyes going wide or a smile forming on her face, the Ballet Mistress’s expression remained stoic and unchanged. He watched his mother’s eyebrow twitch in annoyance. 

“Ah, yes. I heard you would be sending your son.” The Ballet Mistress spoke in a business-like manner, clearly unimpressed by his mother’s reputation.

This was  _ not _ the reaction his mother had wanted. Draco looked back and forth between the two women, half expecting his mother to explode. A tense silence stretched. 

“Draco,” his mother spoke through gritted teeth. “Please go to class.” 

Draco licked his lips and looked around the lobby. “Er… where do I…?”

“Beginning ballet, Mr. Malfoy?” the Ballet Mistress interjected, her tone slightly softer. He nodded. “Go through the big door. You’ll be in studio two. It’s on the left.” 

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” 

Slipping away as quickly and quietly as he could, he managed to escape before his mother began what was destined to be an incredibly strained conversation. 

As promised, just beyond the lobby door, Draco found studio two. He was about to yank on the door handle, when movement to his right caught his eye. Turning, he peered through the large window of studio four. Inside, he saw several students lined up against the back wall. But that wasn’t what he noticed. Not really, anyway. 

In the middle of the room, a single girl twirled and leaped on her own. She looked to be about his age, but clearly, this was far from her first day of ballet. Her brown hair was pulled back in a tight bun, her slim body tucked inside a plain, black leotard and pink tights. Draco couldn’t really pinpoint what it was about her, but somehow, he couldn’t take his eyes away from her as she danced. She moved entirely with precision, and Draco immediately recognized that she danced as naturally as he skated. 

His stomach filled with butterflies. And not the good kind.

Was he meant to dance like that eventually? What if he was complete rubbish at dancing? What if he just made a fool of himself? He had the Malfoy name to think of, after all. 

Shaking his head, he stole one last glance at the dancing girl before turning on his heel and wrenching the door to studio two open. 

“Ah, you must be Draco,” a woman’s voice called from inside. “Come in, come in. Mind your shoes. You can change them and then put your street shoes in a cubby.” 

Stepping through the threshold, Draco froze immediately. The teacher, a jovial looking young woman, beamed at him. Just behind her, along the wall, waiting patiently at the barres, stood seven other students.

All girls. 

Draco fought the urge to turn around and run back to the lobby. 

Instead, he gave a terse nod and plodded over to the cubbies that the teacher had mentioned. Pulling off his trainers, he put on his black slippers. They made his feet feel naked; he didn’t like how much of the floor he could feel through their bottoms. His feet usually felt so protected, cocooned inside a familiar pair of skates, but now… he felt so exposed. 

He was going to hate this. He already knew. 

~*~*~*~

Seventy-five agonizing minutes later, Draco was definitely ready to go home. Even the offer of ice cream with Mr. Dobbs, childish as it was, was beginning to sound appealing. 

Better yet, he wanted to head straight to the rink to practice one of his skating routines—to do something he was actually good at.

Ballet was hard. 

Flexible and athletic though he was, this class had bent and stretched muscles he hadn’t even known existed; he had been asked to put his body into positions he wasn’t sure were possible.

Draco had firmly made up his mind: if given the choice between doing ballet or practicing the hardest jumps on the ice, he’d definitely choose the ice. He never wanted to hear the term  _ plié _ again in his life. 

He would have to have a word with his mother about this whole dancing thing. Glancing at the clock, Draco felt annoyance flare up inside. They still had fifteen minutes of class to go. 

“All right class, let’s take a seat and welcome our level four students. They are going to be walking through and assisting you. I’ll assign pairs.” 

Draco’s eyes flitted over to the door, where several other students were filtering in. Though they all looked to be about the same age as him, there was something about the way they carried themselves that set them apart. Draco recognized it immediately as the same thing that set him apart from the newer skaters at the ice rink. These dancers were experienced. 

He recognized the brown-haired girl from earlier among the group. She was  _ definitely  _ experienced. 

Draco jumped a bit when his name was called, and he looked around for his partner. To his surprise, he saw the brown-haired girl walking toward him. She extended a hand, a warm smile on her face. 

“I’m Hermione.” 

“Draco,” he responded curtly. 

“Nice to meet you. So we’re supposed to work on your posture and feet positions, so let’s take a look. Can you get into first position?” 

Draco sighed and assumed the pose he had already grown bored of, heels together and arms curved in front of his stomach. When he settled into position, he looked up at Hermione expectantly. 

“Well?” 

The girl looked at him with an eagle eye. She walked all around him, one hand tucked under her chin. 

“Overall you look pretty good. Your feet and arms are correct, but your posture could use some work.” 

Draco blanched. His posture? If there was one thing he knew did  _ not _ need correction, it was his posture. He had spent years walking with items on his head, doing specialized exercises and stretches, and being trained by coaches. He stood straighter and more consistently than any other kid he knew. So how did this girl have the audacity to suggest otherwise? 

“Excuse me?” he sneered. 

“Your posture. It’s good, don’t get me wrong,” Hermione spoke quickly, backtracking. “You look like you’ve worked on it. But it’s just not quite the right way to stand for ballet. Can I touch you?” 

Draco narrowed his eyes but nodded. The girl stepped close to him and placed a hand on his shoulder and another on the small of his back. Draco tensed at the touch, clenching his jaw. 

“Your spine is curved just a bit. You don’t have scoliosis, do you?”

“No.” 

“Good. Okay. Let’s try this.” She pushed on his muscles until his shoulders fell into a slightly uncomfortable position. “Okay, but don’t poke your ribs out,” she directed, reaching around him to pull his ribcage in. “Now don’t hunch!” She rolled his shoulders back. He grimaced, feeling his blood beginning to boil. Surely all of these directions were contradicting one another. “Sorry,” she whispered. “There. That looks better. I’d try to do some special exercises and stretches. I can demonstrate some if you—”

“I know plenty of posture exercises, you tutu-wearing ninny.” Draco hissed at Hermione, his hands curling into fists. He deliberately slid his shoulders back into their correct position. “I’ve been bred to be an athlete since before you could walk. I don’t know if you understand who you’re talking to, but you are  _ nothing  _ compared to who I am and where I come from. You’re talking to a future Olympic gold medalist, so I suggest you tread lightly.”

Hermione drew back for a moment, her eyes shining. He expected to see her lip wobble—to see her cheeks flush and for her to run away crying, even. No one bossed Draco Malfoy around like that without being taken down a notch. No one. 

He came from greatness; he was destined for greatness. And no one was going to stand in his way. Especially not some ballet tart. 

As Draco came down from his internal soapbox, he took in Hermione’s expression. She wasn’t crying. She didn’t even look sad. Instead, she had raised a single eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips. 

“All right then. If you’re so clever, go ahead and do an arabesque.” 

Draco froze. 

“What?”

“Dance  _ en pointe _ .” Hermione took a step closer to him, her expression stony.

“Stop being ridiculous. I—”

“Perform a triple pirouette.”

Hermione was now so close that their noses were practically touching. He felt his whole body crackle with defensive energy. “This is my first day of ballet! You can’t bloody well expect me to do all those things right now.” 

“If I can’t expect those things from you right now, then don’t try to tell me that you’re better than me.” Hermione seemed to tower over him as she spoke, her voice trembling with cool anger. “In this studio, everyone from Mistress McGonagall down to me will be more than happy to put you in your place. Ballet is about discipline. It’s difficult and humbling. So I suggest you eat a slice of humble pie and accept my help, or you’re in for a lot of pain in the ballet world.” 

Draco opened and shut his mouth several times. He tried to start speaking, but his throat seemed to have closed up. Instead, his face fell into a sneer as his eyes bored into hers. 

She didn’t flinch. 

For a long while. 

Tension between the two children stretched on until the Level Two teacher laid a hand on each of their shoulders. 

“Is everything okay, Miss Granger? Mr. Malfoy?” 

Before Draco could register what had happened, Hermione had rearranged herself once more, placing her hands back on him. Instantly, his muscles shifted. 

“I’m just helping Draco with his posture.” 

_ What a sneaky— _

“Excellent. Thank you, Miss Granger. Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I had noticed earlier when you were standing in fifth position. Hermione is one of our brightest, most promising students. The Royal Ballet School even has their eye on her. I suggest you listen.” 

Draco felt his own face flush. Had the teacher overheard their argument? Would she tell his mother? If she did, then Mother would certainly tell Father, and that’s not something he wanted to happen. At all. Reeling in his temper, he took a deep gulping breath. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Very good.” The teacher took a step back and clapped her hands, her voice immediately brightening. “All right class. Into first position.” 

Draco tore himself away from Hermione and isolated himself in an emptier corner of the classroom. He made a point to follow the teacher to the tee as she led them through the bows to end the class.

Shooting a glance over at Hermione, it seemed she was doing the same. She held her head high, her expression neutral and focused. An instant acidic dislike curled in his stomach. 

When the teacher clapped her hands to end class, Draco joined in with everyone else. When the other students—all girls—curtsied, he followed suit and started to do the same before a couple of the girls looked over him and started to giggle. Feeling his ears heat up, he quickly switched to a bow. 

Thank God this class was ending immediately. 

Draco joined the end of the queue of students lining up to thank the teacher. As he walked, the hardwood floor continued to feel strange beneath his slipper-clad feet. 

“Excuse me. Ma’am?” he asked as he reached the front of the line.

The teacher turned to face him, a smile growing on her lips. 

“How can I help you, Draco? Did you have a good first class?”

“Oh, er, yes,” he lied quickly. “I just have a question.” 

He paused for a moment, casting a sideways glance at Hermione. She was standing nearby in the queue to exit the room. When he spoke next, he made sure his voice carried. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow for lessons. I know there isn’t a class, but I wanted to make sure that we’re going ahead with one-on-one lessons. I believe my mother spoke to you about my  _ priority status _ .” 

Draco emphasized the last two words, and though he couldn’t see her face, he was sure Hermione’s head had perked up slightly at this declaration. 

“Yes, Draco. You will be having private lessons twice a week with Mistress McGonagall, herself.”

Satisfied with the answer, he said goodbye and grabbed his bag from his cubby before heading for the door. As he slipped on his trainers back on the linoleum floor just outside the studio, he looked up to see Hermione standing above him, arms folded across her chest. 

“What do you want?” he grumbled, pushing himself to his feet. 

“Oh, just to give you a warning.” 

Draco raised an eyebrow. “And what would that be?” 

“That Mistress McGonagall—the one giving you the special lessons—she’s the toughest teacher here. If you think that me nicely correcting your posture was tough, then you’re in for the shock of your life.” 

She spoke the warning with such glee that it made his hair stand on end. But he would never admit that. 

“Whatever. Move.” He nudged her aside and strode out into the lobby where Mother was waiting for him. 

~*~*~*~

Hermione had been right, and that was not something he cared to admit out loud. After two weeks of ballet lessons, he was convinced that Mistress McGonagall was out to get him. Though his group lessons were straightforward enough, his individual ones pushed his patience to the limit. Apparently nothing he did was correct. Even though he  _ knew _ he was doing some things correctly, she never let him complete a movement without making some sort of comment. 

It was driving him spare. 

He had been working with skating choreographers since he was three years-old. He knew how to copy movements with his body. Yet this daft woman treated him as though he had never taken direction in his life. 

“You need to lose the attitude, Mr. Malfoy,” she told him during their fourth lesson together. “Ballet is about precision and grace. Right now, you either have one or the other, but not both at the same time.” 

Draco gritted his teeth and returned to the barre. He ran through the sequence of movements again. And again. And again until sweat poured from his forehead and his temper threatened to boil over. All the while, his instructor watched him unblinkingly from the front of the room. The look in her eye made it seem like she thought he was a particularly difficult jigsaw puzzle. 

After his seventh attempt at the sequence, Mistress McGonagall swept from the room without a word as Draco panted, leaning on his knees. 

Was that it, then? Had he managed to convince the head teacher at this studio that he was rubbish at dancing? He knew he wasn’t—there was no way he was rubbish. Dancing in slippers was definitely different than gliding on the ice, but he had been winning skating competitions since he was little. He knew every muscle in his body. Or at least he thought he did. So how could he be bad at dancing? 

Draco continued to ponder as Mistress McGonagall returned, her expression stern as always. 

“Mr. Malfoy, we seem to be at an impasse.” 

Draco frowned. “A what?”

“An impasse. A stalemate, if you will.” 

“Oh.” 

“Oh, indeed. I have been charged with teaching you the fundamentals of ballet, but it seems that we are not communicating properly. Most students come to me young and inexperienced. You are different, Mr. Malfoy. I am not going to lie. You have experience, though not in ballet. You are also a bit older than most beginners, though you are still quite young. I can understand your frustration, but you must understand that ballet is difficult.”

Instantly, Draco’s mind flew back to Hermione’s words: _ “It’s difficult and humbling.” _

He looked down at his toes.

“Though you are athletic, ballet will train your muscles in ways that ice skating cannot. Your mother is correct: studying here will only improve your skating, but you have to allow me to teach you. Right now, your arrogance is standing in the way of learning anything. And as I understand it, you want to compete internationally. Is that correct?”

Draco peered up at his instructor. The look on her face reminded him of the look his coaches gave him whenever they were disappointed. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Then I suggest you open your mind to the possibility that you don’t know everything, Mr. Malfoy.” 

Draco’s cheeks flamed.

“Right then. I told you that you need to combine both precision and grace. I brought another student to show you what I mean. Miss Granger, if you please?”

Draco’s stomach dropped to his feet. 

Hermione, the bratty dancer from last week, made an appearance at the studio door. She stepped lightly into the room, eyeing Draco warily. 

“Miss Granger, please demonstrate for Mr. Malfoy the showcase piece you’ve been working on. I will count.” 

Clapping her hands, Mistress McGonagall counted beats as Hermione began to dance. 

It was as though this little studio had become a true stage and she was performing, not for her teacher and him, but for a room of hundreds or even thousands. Her expression contorted from joy to concern to despair as she moved about. And as much as he wanted to scowl at her and dismiss her as another talentless girl who fancied herself special— _ there were so many of them in figure skating _ —watching her dance, he quickly came face to face with the fact that Hermione was, indeed, special. 

Watching her move about the room, Draco found everything about the way she moved enchanting: the position of her arms, her jumps, her long neck… and, was she dancing on her toes? Draco’s eyes grew wide as he watched Hermione move seamlessly across the floor on the very tip of her feet. His eyes flicked to her face; he expected to see evidence of pain or distress, but instead, her face displayed joy. Every move she made seemed effortless. It was as though ballet wasn’t difficult for her at all, but instead, quite natural. 

“That will be enough for now. Thank you, Miss Granger.”

The Ballet Mistress called out from off to the side of the studio, where she had been standing. Hermione’s arms returned to her side, and her feet fell flat to the floor. 

“Miss Granger, here, is one of our most promising young students. You might have heard, but The Royal Ballet School even has their eye on her.” 

Draco fought to keep his jaw closed. As impressed as he was, he wouldn’t give this girl the satisfaction of knowing he thought that. 

“She works harder than her other peers and has even been able to accelerate her path because of her dedication. Our studio never recommends eleven year-olds dance en pointe, but she is most certainly an exception.” 

Hermione beamed. 

Draco tried not to roll his eyes. 

“In the figure skating world you come from, I have heard that you have a similar reputation. That you are given special opportunities because of your abilities.” McGonagall paused here and looked down at him expectantly. “Well, that might be true when you wear ice skates, but when you wear ballet slippers, you must accept that you are a beginner, and those around you know better than you.

“The way you dance is fairly technically correct, but only  _ fairly _ . And ballet is nothing without expression. When Miss Granger dances, you can feel what she’s feeling. That is what you must do here. I’m sure the same holds for skating. If your heart and your body can’t convince the audience that your movements are effortless and beautiful, then you haven’t done the dance justice. Is that clear, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco hadn’t felt so dressed down since he was a little boy. He felt heat creep up his neck and make his ears burn, and to his horror, he found himself blinking back tears. 

_ What was he, six?  _

Steeling himself, Draco squared his shoulders and made his face stony. He made sure to settle them into the position Hermione had corrected the week before. As he got in position to begin the sequence for the eighth time, he purposely looked anywhere but at Hermione. He just knew she would have a smirk on her face. She was definitely the type to gloat. He was sure. 

“Go ahead, Mr. Malfoy.” 

When Draco danced the sequence this time, he tried to clear his head and approach each movement as if he was on ice. He imagined he was back on the rink as he danced—imagined how he would interpret this routine if he was wearing skates. Years of encouragement from coaches filled his mind as his body flowed. Every step was precise and every movement was laced with meaning. 

When he finished, sweat on his brow and his chest heaving, he looked over to McGonagall. 

For the first time, she smiled. 

Glancing over at Hermione, he found her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Better.  _ Much _ better.” McGonagall gave stern words of praise. “You’ve worked hard today. You may be dismissed.” 

Draco breathed a sigh of relief, scooped up his bag, and dashed from the room without looking back. 

Mr. Dobbs was waiting to pick him up out front in one of the family town cars. When the butler asked him where he wanted to go, there was only one answer.

The ice rink. 

~*~*~*~

Though that day’s ballet lesson hadn’t gone as horribly as the others, it was a relief to get back on the ice. Having the blade between his foot and the ice gave him a sense of control that felt completely gone whenever he wore those slippers. Smiling for the first time in what felt like forever, he did lutz jumps just for the fun of it as he flew about the rink. 

Yes, this was definitely more freeing than ballet. 

He was surrounded by the comforting sounds of skates scraping the ice from a dozen other skaters around the rink. 

He was home.

Draco was so elated that Coach Binns seemed far more tolerable than usual. Binns was elderly—so old, in fact that he had coached his mother to victory back in the seventies and eighties. And it wasn’t that he was boring. He just—well, Draco usually wanted to fall asleep whenever he spoke. 

Today, however, he was still paying attention when he spotted a familiar figure in a crisp, white dress making her way toward the rink from the lobby on the opposite side of the room.  _ That was odd. She never came to his regular practices.  _

“Mother? What are you doing here?” 

Draco skated to the other side of the rink and stopped just short of the barrier. 

“Oh, Draco, darling. I wanted to stop by and talk to you.” The boy followed as his mother walked over to the opening in the rink wall. As they traveled together, she continued talking. “You see, I’ve been talking to your coaches as well as to several high-ranking members of British Ice Skating. We’ve had cocktails and tea and lots of long chats, and well, it just makes sense.” 

Draco raised his eyebrows. He knew his mother was well-connected in the skating world, but it always gave him a bit of a thrill to hear about her conversing with skating legends. Still, he tried to not wear his excitement on his sleeve. “Oh? What makes sense?”

His mother sat down on a metal bench and patted the space beside her. Draco obeyed the silent invitation and joined her off-rink. He took two shuffling steps before rotating himself and sitting beside her. The silence between them stretched for a moment before his mother turned to him, anticipation in her voice. “We’ve decided to take your skating career in a different path.” 

Draco blinked. “What do you mean by a different path?” 

“Well,” his mother explained. “You’re currently training for men’s singles figure skating, but you have been removed from that training program.” 

Though it took a few seconds for Mother’s words to sink in, when they did, Draco could swear his brain had short circuited. 

“Removed—? But—why? Mother?” 

How could he have been removed? If he wasn’t on the list, then he wouldn’t be able to compete. And if he couldn’t compete, that meant he couldn’t keep working toward the Olympics. His goal. His dream.  _ Gone. _

Was he only going to pursue ballet from now on? The thought made him want to vomit.

Draco felt his chest tighten in panic. His throat began to constrict as his breaths came in short pants. He didn’t want to give up skating. He couldn’t. The edges of his vision grew a little fuzzy, and he was vaguely aware of someone rubbing circles on his back. 

“It’s all right, Draco. Calm down. You’re fine. You’re not done with skating,” a familiar voice soothed him. But it wasn’t his mother speaking. The voice was male. In the recesses of his brain, he was able to identify Binns.

_ Binns  _ knew about this but he didn’t? 

The very thought made him want to chuck his skates across the room, blade first. But that kind of anger would get him nowhere with Mother. He learned that long ago.

Steadying his voice, Draco managed to croak out three words. “I’m not done?” 

“Goodness, no. You’re going to make it all the way, believe me. Just in a different division.” His coach winked at him and patted his back twice more before standing. 

“A different division?” 

“Ice dancing!” His mother practically shrieked, clapping her hands together in delight. It was as though she had been holding this information inside, waiting for the right moment for it to burst out of her. “Isn’t it exciting?”

“Ice… dancing?” Draco looked from his mother to his coach. Surely they were pulling his leg. 

“Yes, darling. That’s why you’ve begun ballet.”

“I—what?” Draco blinked up at his mother in confusion. She was grinning ear to ear and looking at him as though he was supposed to think this was the most wonderful idea in the world.

“Ballet, dear. It’s your first of many dance classes you’ll take.” 

If the Earth could have opened up and swallowed him whole right now, he’d have gladly accepted his fate over this. More dancing? 

“You’ll be taking all sorts of dance from now on. Jazz and social dance! Oh, darling, there are so many opportunities for you in this division. And you’ve been hand-picked because we think you’ll truly thrive there. Ice Dancing is in need of strong skaters, and we know this is the surest way to gold.” 

Though Draco felt anger bubbling within, he had to admit that his mother knew the right words to say to stroke his ego. 

He looked up at her with raised eyebrows. “Hand-picked?” 

“Yes, darling. Hand-picked. British Ice Skating wanted  _ you _ .” 

Slumping against the wall, Draco sighed. “Will I still be skating regularly?” 

“Of course,” Binns cut in. “All ice dancers have to train extensively on ice. Because of the intensity of your new training regimen, you will likely skate in the early morning and then dance in the afternoons.” 

That didn’t sound so bad…

“And of course we’ll need to find you a partner—” 

“What?” Draco jumped to his feet, wobbling slightly on his blades. “A partner?” 

He had forgotten. Ice dancing meant that he needed a partner. And not just a partner. A  _ girl _ . 

“Yes, Draco. You’re going to have a partner in all practices going forward—both dance and skating.” 

Draco tried to imagine what that would look like and frowned. Would he have to do ballet with a partner? He tried to think back to the ice dancers he had seen at competitions. He had never really paid attention to them before. 

Closing his eyes, the one image that came to mind was a couple that he shared ice time with. They were a few years older than him, and were practically always together. Draco had watched them skate before. They always stood very close; so close, in fact, that their noses touched sometimes. And the boy… he was always holding the girl’s hand. 

“Ugh!” he made a face. “You mean I have to touch a girl? All the time?” 

Binns laughed and his mother rolled her eyes. 

“Yes, Draco,” Binns reassured him. “But you’ll get used to it in time. I promise. Besides, this girl is going to become your true partner. You’ll have to work well together if you’re going to go for the gold one day.”

There was a short pause as the gears in Draco’s head turned. Working well together… gold…

“Wait, I’d have to share my medals!” he sneered. “Absolutely not! No way! I want it to be me and me alone standing up there on that podium one day. Not me and some stupid girl I have to hold hands with!” 

His mother seemed to have reached the end of her rope, because she stood as well, towering over him. 

“Well that’s just what’s going to have to happen, because it’s been decided. We’ve already begun to search for a partner, and we have several wonderful candidates. So you’re going to put on a smile and skate with them. Is that clear?”

Draco stomped over to the edge of the rink. _ “Crystal.” _ And before his mother could respond, he threw her a nasty look and took off across the rink for what he hoped wasn’t the last time alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wanted to know what happened with Hermione and Draco, didn't you? 
> 
> Well luckily, you get to read the WHOLE thing. 
> 
> Writing "tutu-wearing ninny" made me giggle.
> 
> Posting again next Wednesday!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco navigates trying to find an ice dance partner and gets some advice from his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! 
> 
> Sorry for posting a wee bit late in the day - I am halfway through moving house. I’m surrounded by a bare house and some half-filled boxes as I write this. Plus, I’m posting this on my phone, as my husband’s already unplugged our router!
> 
> Major thanks to GracefulLioness!

**June 2001**

Having only just turned eleven years-old, Draco wasn’t sure what hell felt like. But if he had to guess, it would definitely be something like this past month. Ever since his mother had informed him that he would be leaving singles male figure skating and switching over to ice dancing, he had spent each weekend squished next to his mother at a coffee shop meeting other figure skating girls and their parents. 

There had been so many girls… Susan, Hannah, Daphne, the one who’d had spinach stuck in her teeth… he couldn’t remember all their names. As the adults talked business above their heads, he was often left to make awkward conversation with the girls. 

Unfortunately, most of them were airheads. 

They spent some time talking about skating—about their costumes and about the different jumps they could do, but they mostly blabbered on about themselves. Draco ended up tuning the majority of it out. In between long stories about that one time their costume was supposed to be _ lilac _ and it ended up more  _ lavender _ , Draco had plenty of time to fidget. During one particularly boring meeting, he had been sort-of listening (but actually trying to balance a teaspoon on his nose) when his mother had broken away from her own conversation, spotted him, and reamed him out in front of Tracey and her mother, Mrs. Davis. 

After that, he only allowed himself to daydream a little. Nearly four weeks into these unfortunate meetings, he actually found himself so bored that he mentally walked through some of the ballet sequences he had learned over the past month-and-a-half. 

_ Tombé pas de bourré glissade assemblé.  _

_ Tendu á la second, ronde de jambe to fourth position, double pirouette. _

Ballet lessons had been going fairly well since he had started taking them seriously. It had taken him a bit of time to mentally adjust to the idea of ice dancing as his path forward. After his mother had made her rather tactless announcement over a month ago, Draco continued to protest his new assignment. He had even dissolved into sniveling, screaming tantrums a few times. It wasn’t exactly something he was proud of at his age, but he was desperate. 

Tantrums had worked throughout most of his childhood. It was how he’d gotten out of riding lessons and regular visits to his grandparents’ stuffy old house. On this occasion, however, his parents seemed to have made up their minds. 

And seeing as he would be stuck with ice dancing for the foreseeable future, he had to take it seriously.

While he could have continued to stomp and pout his way through ballet lessons, the memory of McGonagall and that Hermione girl putting him in his place was enough to make him toe the line during class. 

Draco had also run into Hermione nearly every time he took lessons there. Not only did she take group classes every day of the week, but it seemed that she received private instruction regularly as well. That meant that he was forced to come face-to-face with her and her enormous hairbun regularly. 

Hermione had taken to greeting him whenever they passed in the studio. He often responded with a begrudging wave or a grunt or acknowledgement. Sometimes he just turned his nose up.

What a shock it was, then, that she seemed to take his rudeness in stride. She never retaliated or got upset. Instead, she simply repeated her kind words and kept smiling each time they passed by each other. 

It was off putting.

She had to be wired strangely or something. No one was  _ that _ nice. No one he had met, anyway.

But despite being strangely pleasant, Hermione had been right about one thing: his posture had needed correcting. After six weeks of ballet, his body began to fall into the right position more naturally. It had taken him by surprise, and he begrudgingly had to admit that it was affecting his skating in a really positive way. 

Not that he would ever say it out loud. To her, especially. 

But still, at the very least he had more respect for her than for these dimwits his mother was forcing him to meet. 

She had talent, and that had to count for something. 

These girls… there was no way they could put their money where their mouth was when it came to the ice. 

According to his mother, gifted and ambitious boys were somewhat of a rare find in the youth skating world, so he was a highly sought after commodity.

“They’ll be queueing up around the block to be your partner,” she had told him before their first meeting a month ago. 

His mother had not been lying. He’d met girl after girl until he couldn’t keep them all straight. And then finally— _ finally _ , Mother had narrowed the partner pool down to six girls. 

Five of them were from the meetings. One had been on the list from the beginning. 

Pansy Parkinson.

God, he hoped his partner would be Pansy. Sure, she was a little mean, but she was a decent skater. Draco had known Pansy since they were three years-old. They met in a tot-skate class and had become fast friends. Of course, as Draco grew, he came to realize that Pansy was really less of a close friend and more of a clingy thorn in his side. But still, they got on well enough. And he knew what he was getting into if he partnered with Pansy. She was reasonably skilled, in any case.

The other five girls? Complete unknowns. Mother had presented him with a list with names, and he could vaguely recall three of them. Lavender, Hannah, and Katie… yes, he remembered meeting them. The other two—Romilda and Marietta— he couldn’t even begin to remember what they looked like. 

Draco figured that they had likely gabbed on for far too long and as a result, he spent most of that time running through ballet sequences in his head.

He sincerely hoped at least one of them was both an excellent skater and not a total dunderhead. 

~*~*~*~

Draco never slept in. Good athletes never did, even on Saturday mornings. At least, that’s what Father had taught him. Each morning at or before six a.m., he joined his father for calisthenics and other exercises. Seeing as his father worked seven days a week, this was about the only time that he got to spend with the man, the myth, and the legend who was world champion speed skater Lucius Malfoy. Father spent far more of his time with investors, journalists, business partners, and even his personal trainer than with his own son. 

Still, this time together was better than nothing, so Draco dragged himself out of bed each morning to make it happen. Or rather, Dobbs dragged him.

Mr. Dobbs shook him awake at the precise moment that the grandfather clock in the corridor outside his room announced it was quarter-til. 

“It’s time to greet the day, young master,” the old butler chided. 

“Oh, do shut up, Dobbs.” Draco shoved a pillow over his head. He had slept particularly poorly the night before, knowing what today meant—what today would bring. It was a lot of pressure, picking one of those girls to be the partner he would have to carry on his shoulders—in all senses—to the Olympic podium. As hard as Draco had tried to fall asleep, anxiety that he would pick the wrong girl settled in his stomach and swirled about his innards until he was sure he wouldn’t sleep a wink.

The little sleep he did get was completely awful. 

“Go _ away _ , Dobbs,” he moaned as the butler patted his back some more. 

He could have sworn he heard the old man chuckle. 

_ Cheeky bastard.  _

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, young sir. You know as well as I do that you are required to wake early. And I have been told that you will be waking even earlier once your new training regimen begins.” 

Draco groaned into his pillow. 

“Your father is already waiting down in the garden. He requested a slightly early start today, as he has limited time in the office today.”

“Why would he have limited time?” Draco flipped over and squinted up into the sunlit face of his large-eared butler. 

“Well, he’s got to get all his work finished this morning, you see. He’s taken off the afternoon to come to your partner auditions today.”

Draco sat bolt upright, the worry that had sat in his stomach like a rock all night tightening even more. He swallowed. “Father will be there?”

Mr. Dobbs shot him a knowing look. “It’s about time, if you ask me. Your father hardly shows up to anything you do even though he demands so much from you.” The butler leaned down and held out an arm. Draco grabbed it and stood up onto the dark green rug by his bedside. “But you didn’t hear it from me, young master.” 

“Didn’t hear what?” Draco blinked stupidly a couple times, playing dumb, as if to reassure the butler that his secret defiance was safe. 

The butler winked. 

“Come along then, young sir. Get dressed and run along to the garden. Don’t keep your father waiting or goodness knows, we’ll all hear about it.” Dobbs gave him a pat on the back before shuffling from the room. 

Several minutes later found Draco bounding down the grand staircase and into the sunny foyer of the manor. Instead of taking the long path around the outside like his parents preferred, he slipped through the kitchen and out the back door that led directly into the gardens. 

“You’re late,” his father drawled from a wide patch of grass over to his right. 

“Sorry, Father.” Draco jogged to Lucius Malfoy’s side as he began their daily exercise regimen. First, stretches. 

Draco reached for his toes. 

“Today is a big day, son.” 

“Yes, I know.” 

_ Right tricep stretch.  _

“Your decision today could affect the rest of your skating career.” 

“Yes, father.” 

_ Left tricep stretch. _

“Have you thought about which of the candidates might suit you best?” 

Draco shot a glance at his father before moving to a bicep stretch. 

“I was thinking of Pansy,” he said, hesitancy creeping into his voice.

When his father didn’t respond right away, the ball of nerves returned to his stomach. He was about to open his mouth to take back when the elder Malfoy finally spoke. 

“The Parkinsons and the Malfoys have certainly known each other for a long time. It would be an easier partnership than most. Pansy comes from a good background. Her parents understand the time and sacrifice necessary to drive your career. As long as you skate well together, I would also recommend that partnership.” 

Draco breathed a sigh of relief as they transitioned to the cardio portion of their exercise routine. If Father approved of Pansy, then he would pursue her as a partner first. He just hoped that she would be good enough on the ice. 

“Just remember, Draco,” his father continued. “Your partner’s ambitions must match your own. You don’t have to like her. She is not your friend. Your relationship is strictly professional. Your job is to win competitions with her. Do you understand?”

He wasn’t sure why, but an odd pang of disappointment filled his chest as he agreed with his father and then began a set of squats. Perhaps a small part of him hoped that if he had to share a gold medal with a girl, he’d at least like her to be a friend. 

~*~*~*~

Being who she was, Narcissa Malfoy was able to reserve the ice rink for three hours without question on a Saturday afternoon. When the Malfoy town car pulled up to the skating centre, they were greeted by two adults he had never seen before: a woman with spiky grey hair and a tall, pale man with dark hair and a large nose.

Immediately, his mother rushed over to greet the two. Father motioned for Draco to fall in line with him and greet these strangers just behind her. 

“Oh, thank you for agreeing to be here today,” Mother gushed. “I know this might not be the norm, but we are certain of our son’s abilities. He deserves the best, and that’s what we’re going to get him.” 

She beamed down at Draco and he shot a nervous smile back. 

“Draco, these will be your new ice dancing coaches. Madam Hooch will be your technical coach and Mr. Snape will be your head coach. He will oversee all your practices from now on. Both of these fine people have some of the most impressive résumés out there.” 

Draco eyed the dark-haired man. He didn’t seem particularly nice. Then again, Coach Binns had been around since the dinosaurs, and probably had wanted to retire. 

_ Mother and Father know best.  _ He repeated the words to himself like a mantra as a shiver ran down his spine at the sight of his new head coach.

“I’m Draco Malfoy,” he said, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you.” 

While Madam Hooch shook his hand heartily, Mr. Snape eyed it with slight disdain, nodding in acknowledgement instead of taking it. 

“Know that in our training sessions, there is to be no tomfoolery or mucking about. I’ve done a favour to your parents by agreeing to train you so young. I normally do not train those under age sixteen. Under my wing, you will need to commit to success. Is that clear, Mr. Malfoy?” 

If this man’s goal was to strike fear into his heart, he was certainly succeeding. He was definitely worse than McGonagall, and he didn’t realize that was possible. Draco would have scowled if Mother and Father hadn’t been staring daggers into his back. 

Was this going to be his life now? Ballet lessons, where he was criticized constantly, followed by this overly-serious man who seemed to have a rod stuck up his—

“Let’s head inside, shall we?” Mother’s lips stretched in her most polite smile as she gestured to the arena. 

The girls and their families arrived over the course of the next twenty minutes. As Draco expected, some of the girls were dressed head to toe in unnecessary sparkles.

His eyes flying over the chosen half-dozen, he thanked his lucky stars that Pansy was wearing plain black. It was an appropriate outfit for such an occasion. She knew him; she knew how much he hated over-the-top costumes. 

Catching her eye, she shot him a look that told him one thing: she expected to be picked today. 

Draco settled onto the far end of the bleachers beside his stoic father. The girls and their parents settled closer to the center. From out front, his mother and the two new coaches took their places. Mother cleared her throat. 

“Thank you all for being here today. My son, Draco, is eager to find a partner who will be most compatible with him on the ice. We’ve got our eyes set on gold one day, after all.” His mother made deliberate eye contact with each girl as she spoke. Draco was impressed that none of the girls ran out then and there. He knew that look. There was poison lurking just behind her welcoming facade. 

As his mother continued to talk to the crowd, Draco began to stretch off to the side before taking to the ice. After a few more minutes, one of the girls stood and opened up the rink wall before skating out to him. Mr. Snape and Madam Hooch were just behind her. 

Madam Hooch was the one to take the lead. Thank God. 

“All right, you two. Let’s start by taking a loop around the rink. Draco, please take Hannah’s hand.” 

The blonde girl held out her hand with a shy smile. His memory jogged to their meeting over tea… she had been one of the ones he hadn’t hated. Grimacing slightly, he slipped his fingers through hers and they took off around the rink. 

From the moment their palms touched, Draco noticed that her hands were sweaty and he fought the urge to pull away. 

But his mother was watching. More importantly, his father was watching, too. 

He tightened his grip. 

Hannah turned out to be quite the decent skater. She could perform all the moves requested by Madam Hooch. Mr. Snape seemed to be measuring her compatibility. Under his direction, they performed several simple skate sequences together, all the while under the careful watch of the crowd sitting in the bleachers. 

In the end, Hannah did okay. She was a sweet enough girl. Not obnoxious. But she felt too laid back for his tastes. In the moments in between directions, she told him that skating was one of several hobbies she was pursuing. 

_ “Your partner’s ambitions must match your own.” _ His father’s words rang in his head as Hannah skated back to her seat, only to be replaced by Katie. 

This girl seemed far more outgoing than Hannah. He could tell in the way she skated that she was a girl willing to work hard toward her goals. They even skated well together. 

But when Madam Hooch asked her to demonstrate technical skills, it was clear that she couldn’t hold a candle to him. 

Katie returned to her seat looking slightly forlorn. 

Lavender was next. Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes as she made her way over. This had been one of the girls who wouldn’t shut up about her costumes. True to her character, she looked as though a bag of glitter had vomited all over her. 

Yet when they began to skate together, Lavender turned out to be a good partner. She was a natural on her skates and her palms weren’t sweaty. She could even keep up with all the lutzes and spins Madam Hooch asked her to perform. 

But then she opened her mouth. Not only did her nasally voice grit on Draco’s ears, but her actual words were nothing to bat an eye at. Lavender blathered about some competition she had won two years ago without taking a breath. When Draco quizzed her on her ambitions and on actual skating knowledge, however, it was clear that she knew nothing. 

Draco shot a glance at his new coaches as she continued to speak in a singular run-on sentence. They seemed just as unimpressed as he was. 

Lavender returned to the bleachers, delightfully oblivious to the poor impression she gave. 

Marietta was next. From the moment she skated out to him, he could see a vicious edge to her. Though she skated well, Draco felt very odd about the way she presented herself. Her skating was actually… aggressive? Moments that were meant to be graceful actually came across as forceful. 

Draco mentally crossed her off the list. 

By the time Marietta headed back, over an hour had passed and Madam Hooch insisted on a break for everyone. Draco skated back to the edge of the ice and put the covers over his blades before plopping onto a bench and gulping down the better part of a water bottle. 

So far, no one was promising, and the nerves that had kept him up the night before were beginning to creep in. What if none of the girls today were good enough? Granted, Pansy hadn’t skated yet, but still…

“Hey, Draco. That looked like a rough time out there.”

Pansy settled beside him leaning back and grinning.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, re-lacing his boots. 

“I’m sure we’re going to be different. We’ve been skating together forever. Do you remember when we were six and we had to skate to the Spice Girls?”

Draco chuckled. “Yeah, I do. I refused to get on the ice, actually. The coach had to carry me to the start position.” 

“You’ve always been so stubborn.” Pansy sidled closer to him and batted her eyelashes. 

He shoved her playfully and moved the conversation in a different direction entirely. They spoke easily enough, but Draco couldn’t help the niggling worry that sat in the back of his head the whole time that this might all come to an end if he didn’t pick her. 

When Draco was summoned back to the rink, he pushed himself onto his feet, actually a little glad to put some distance between them. 

And then Madam Hooch pointed at Pansy. She grinned and pulled his wrist. “Come on, Draco! Let’s get out there.”

The two of them skated to the center of the ice where Madam Hooch and Mr. Snape were waiting. Quickly, Madam Hooch swooped in and gave directions to Pansy. 

As Draco watched her skate, he observed her technique closely. While she was certainly talented, she wasn’t as finessed as she should be for having skated since age three. 

A bead of sweat dropped down his forehead and his heart climbed into his throat. Though he didn’t know much about the last girl still sitting in the bleachers, there was little hope that she would be that good. Pansy was it. She had to be. 

When Madam Hooch finished, Mr. Snape took over, directing Draco and Pansy to skate together. 

It was nothing short of a disaster. Pansy kept bumping into him. They were asked to skate a basic waltz together, but she didn’t respond to the cues he gave her with his eyes and the touch of his hand on her back. 

And then she skated a little too enthusiastically right into him, knocking them both to the ice. 

Draco looked to the stands. His mother looked close to tears and his father’s face seemed disgruntled as it peeked over the top of his newspaper. 

“That will be all. Thank you, Miss Parkinson,” Mr. Snape drawled.

Pansy returned, shoulders slumped and sniffing.

The final skater, Romilda, was just as disappointing. She was, if possible, even dumber than Lavender; when Mr. Snape had asked her to dance a basic waltz with Draco, she had nearly collapsed in a fit of giggles when directed to hold his hand.

Mother dismissed them all an hour early and collapsed onto a metal bench, face buried in her hands. 

The two coaches murmured between themselves. 

Father merely turned the page of his newspaper. 

Draco hesitated, unsure of what was supposed to come next. His mother looked as though the world were coming to an end. Should he comfort her? 

He didn’t like dealing with crying girls…

He took his chances and plopped down beside his father. Though they didn’t say a word to each other, this suited Draco just fine. It meant he was free to think about what a disaster today had been. Not only was Pansy not a good match;  _ none _ of the girls were. His parents were determined to transfer him over to ice dancing, but if they couldn’t find a partner to fit his skill level, what was the point? 

A tiny voice in his head bubbled up, whispering that perhaps, they would just let him return to men’s singles competition. 

But there was no way. Once his parents made up their minds, nothing could deter them. Not even a lack of a decent partner. Draco supposed his parents would simply pick a girl and he would be forced to carry the load entirely on his shoulders. 

Sighing, he rested his elbow on his thigh, his cheek on his palm. When he opened his eyes, he found his face inches away from Father’s newspaper. There, right in front of his nose, was a blurry picture of a person. Draco adjusted his eyes to bring them into focus. 

That was odd. 

He blinked and rubbed his eyes.

What was  _ Hermione from ballet _ doing with her picture in the paper? 

Tilting his head to match the angle of the print, Draco drank in the spread. Sure enough, he was right. It was her. Hermione’s black-and-white picture, right in the middle of the page, showed her with some sort of medal around her neck. She was grinning wildly at somewhere beyond the camera. 

Squinting, Draco read the picture caption. 

_ Hermione Granger, 11, took home the gold medal in the North London Skating Competition in the junior girls’ division.  _

Hermione, that uptight, brilliant dancer, was a skater as well? Why hadn’t she ever said anything? 

Or had she? 

He tried to reach back in his memory, scraping around for any hint she might have dropped, but he came up with nothing. 

But it was true, wasn’t it? She was a skater. 

Draco felt his heart begin to beat against his ribcage, his own palms growing sweaty as he frantically tried to read the article with his head still tilted to the right slightly. Skimming the article, Hermione’s name jumped out in the fourth paragraph. 

_ One of the favourite performances of the day came from Hermione Granger, 11, of the Barnet Skating Club. Though she is a relative newcomer to the field, her grace and precision on the ice gained her immense favour with the judges, who gave her a nearly perfect score. The eager girl took to the podium with pride. _

Grace and precision? Did that mean that her ballet skills carried over onto the ice? 

And the article had called her a ‘relative newcomer.’ What did that mean? He would have to investigate. 

Even if he couldn’t stand her and her uppity attitude, if she could skate well enough, then perhaps… just perhaps…

Draco recalled his father’s words from that morning: _ “You don’t have to like her. She is not your friend. Your relationship is strictly professional. Your job is to win competitions with her.” _

This could be it. 

Draco opened his mouth to shout out this newly-found solution, but quickly retracted. 

His mother already looked so distraught; he didn’t want to crush her again right after getting her hopes up. 

He would just have to talk to Hermione on Monday. He could catch her in the hallway at the dance studio. Or maybe he could motion to her from outside if she was in the middle of class. Yes, that could work. 

But what would he say? 

_ “Sorry I’ve been a git, but would you mind giving up your chances at the Royal Ballet School to skate with me every day until we go to the Olympics?” _

That just sounded dumb. 

Draco thought all through Sunday and Monday. He laid awake in bed late into the night and stared at blank walls, trying to search for the words he needed. By the time he entered the studio for his private ballet lesson, he still hadn’t thought of what to say. He asked Mr. Dobbs to drop him off five minutes early, and raced past the double glass doors and into the back. Perhaps something would come to him in the moment.

When he breezed past reception toward the studios, butterflies mounted in his stomach. Through the glass, he saw Hermione. She was receiving a private lesson as she usually did on Monday afternoons. 

Draco hovered outside of her classroom, peering in through the window beside the heavy wooden door. Just inside, Hermione was listening intently to something her young, male instructor was saying, never breaking eye contact and nodding slightly every few seconds. His stomach roiled slightly when she took a step back from her instructor and did a variation of a pirouette, pausing at the end and looking up at him. 

He seemed to approve of whatever she had just done; he rewarded her with a smile. She beamed back. 

The butterflies in his stomach blossomed. Could she be it? Could she be the one they had been looking for? Though the stubborn part of him clung to the notion that she was a tutu-wearing ninny, the ambitious part of him knew better. She was talented and hard-working. If she could skate half as well as she danced, Hermione Granger might be his best shot. 

As if she could hear his thoughts, Hermione suddenly turned her head toward the door, where he was still peering in. Draco ducked out of sight, praying that she hadn’t caught sight of him spying. That would only lead to questions. 

The logical thing to do would have been to simply ask her to try out as his skating partner. 

But Draco rather liked not looking like a fool in front of people.

So he made his mother call her parents instead. 

After he was almost caught at the ballet studio, he decided that he had to see Hermione skate. He practically fell out of the town car upon arriving home, racing into the back garden where his mother was taking tea with a book in her lap. There, the whole story came spilling out—how the brilliant girl from his ballet studio was also a skater. Not only that, but she had won a local competition.

His mother sat with her mouth slightly agape as it all came flooding from his mouth. 

“Please, Mother, won’t you call up her family and arrange an audition?” 

“My, my, Draco.” Mother set her teacup down and pursed her lips. “I haven’t seen you this worked up since you were convinced the judges panel incorrectly awarded you a silver medal two years ago.” 

Draco frowned at the patronizing tone, but pushed forward anyway. “Please, Mother. I think she could be it.”

Narcissa Malfoy stared down at her son with raised eyebrows as if to say ‘so be it’.

“She is  _ that _ good of a dancer, is she?”

“She’s really good. Honestly.” 

“I’ll see what I can do, then.” 

With a pat on her son’s shoulder, Mother stood and carried her book and teacup in the house. Draco followed close behind, eager to eavesdrop on any sort of conversation between his mother and Hermione’s parents. 

To his dismay, he found his mother had shut the door to his father’s study to make the call. Draco lurked just outside, pacing and praying her parents would agree to the audition. His mind raced with possibilities as he waited.

What if Hermione said no? Would he have to settle for one of the girls who auditioned, or would they continue to seek other girls? How far behind would he get if he couldn’t start practicing with a partner soon?

It wasn’t until twenty agonizing minutes later that Mother emerged, a gentle smile on her face. 

“Well?” Draco stepped forward, heart beating wildly.

“Mr. Granger talked to his daughter, and they agreed to an audition this coming Saturday.” 

Draco closed his eyes as he felt relief coursing through his veins. He had done it. Now all he had to do was cross his fingers that Hermione was better than any of the girls from last week. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s cross our fingers that Hermione skates better than the other girls! 
> 
> And Lucius... what do you think about him?
> 
> I loved seeing all your comments last chapter. It’s going to be so fun for me to see you bear witness to Draco growing up to be much less of a little shit. 
> 
> Take care, everyone! Be well!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. It is a full-on miracle this is getting posted today. I moved house 5 days ago and I barely got away for a few minutes to post this before midnight. Eek! 
> 
> Love as always to Graceful Lioness.

**July 2001**

When Draco and his mother arrived at the rink after lunch on Saturday—this time, without his father, who insisted that he had seen quite enough of silly little girls prancing about—the young Malfoy boy was a bundle of nerves. What if this was all a colossal mistake? What if Hermione was actually a terrible skater? Or showed up in some sort of dreadful sparkly dress? 

Draco laced up his skates as Mr. Snape and Madam Hooch showed up; just behind them, he heard two unfamiliar adult voices and a third, high-pitched one.

“Mum, Dad I think I see him over there.” 

Head snapping up, Draco looked toward the entrance where three figures had just walked in: a man with a slightly-balding head of brown hair and a woman with dark curls. Hermione was just beside them. 

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that she wasn’t wearing a single sparkle. Instead, she had on a pair of black skating pants and a zip-up. Simple. Professional. Pretty too, he supposed. 

“Hi Draco,” Hermione called as she made her way over and plopped down beside him. 

“Hey.” He watched with a strange sense of fascination as she pulled her skates out of her bag and laced them up. 

Hermione seemed to notice him watching her as well, because she paused halfway through tying her left skate. 

“Everything okay?”

“Oh, erm, yeah.” Draco purposefully looked away as though he had been caught doing something shameful. 

“I was surprised to hear you wanted to skate with me. I didn’t think you heard me when I mentioned it to you a while ago. And to be honest, I didn’t think you liked me very much. I’m… what was the phrase you used? A ‘tutu-wearing ninny’, isn’t that right?”

He felt his cheeks heat up. She’d mentioned it to him? He really did feel like a git. 

“Oh, well— you see, I—” All the words seemed to get stuck in his throat. 

Hermione raised her eyebrows. 

Ah, bugger it. 

“I’m sorry, all right? I just… I just want to see if we skate well together.”

She considered him for a minute before continuing to lace up her skates. “And then what if we do? Skate well together, I mean.”

“Well, I suppose I’d ask if you’d want to be my ice dancing partner.” 

“That’s what my mum said. So, ice dancing, huh?”

“Yeah. My parents wanted me to switch over from singles and I need a partner. That’s why I’m in ballet now.” 

“Not your choice, then?” Hermione finished tying her skates and sat up.

“Not even a little bit.” 

The corners of Hermione’s lips turned down. “I see. But if we do well, do you want to do ice dancing? Even if it is with a  _ ninny? _ ”

Draco groaned. “Look, I’m sorry all ri—”

Hermione laughed, a goofy grin spreading across her face. “I’m only joking. But seriously, if we’re paired together, would you enjoy ice dancing? Or would you just keep grumbling like you do over with Mistress McGonagall?”

Straightening up, he made a point to look Hermione right in the eye. “Once my partner is set, there’s no turning back. I’m in it for real—for the gold. I’ll practice every day until we qualify for the Olympics if I have to.” 

Hermione stood and held her hand out. He stared at it for a moment. If they became skating partners, he’d have to hold her hand almost every day. 

Draco reached to accept it. 

He noted at once that her hand was not sweaty at all. Thank goodness.

“Then we’re on the same page.” Hermione nodded let go of his hand. Her eyes traveled the length of his body, as if she was sizing him up. “I’ve got a vision board on my wall at home, and in the very center is a picture of an Olympic gold medal.”

“Is it? It thought you were headed to the Royal Ballet School?”

Hermione shrugged. “I’ve definitely thought about it. They’ve been inquiring about me for about a year now.” 

“And?” Draco folded his arms. “It must be difficult to even think about turning that sort of opportunity down.” 

“I love dancing, but ballet seems a bit limiting. With ice dancing, I’d learn all sorts of styles. And it comes with more awards.” 

It was odd, having a regular conversation with Hermione. It wasn’t hard to see her as someone he could get along with, now that they weren’t at each other’s throats. 

Father had said that he didn’t have to be friends with his partner, but Hermione seemed like she might actually be nice to talk to. 

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Draco’s lips turned down as he considered Hermione’s words for the first time. “Awards  _ are  _ nice.”

“They are. And I’d like some more.” 

The two shared a small grin before looking out to the rink. Their parents could be seen sitting in the bleachers together, chatting about something or other. Mr. Snape and Madam Hooch were standing by the edge of the ice, ready to give directions. Madam Hooch called out to them. 

“Right, you two. On the ice. Miss Granger, let’s see what you’ve got. I’d like you to skate one of your current programs for us if that’s all right. That way you can start in your comfort zone.” 

“Yes, ma’am!” Hermione replied, stepping heavily over to the bleachers. “Dad? My music, please.” 

The jovial-looking Mr. Granger plodded over, a CD in his hand. When he squatted down to hand it to his daughter, he pinched her cheek. “Have a good skate, bug.” 

Hermione traipsed back over to where Madam Hooch stood and presented her with the disc before removing her skate guards and heading to the center of the rink.

Draco had seen many girls skate in his nearly eight years on ice. He had seen girls who skated well. Very well, in fact. 

But never had he seen someone like this. 

From the moment she took to the ice, she looked as though she was floating. Even in her black training clothes, she looked nothing short of a princess. Something about the way she held herself set her apart. It was as though she was made to skate. 

And then the music started. Soft piano accompanied gentle movements of her arms. When the orchestra picked up, her routine began in earnest. As she skated around the rink, she glided with confidence, landing each jump firmly and without hesitation. He briefly recalled the dance Mistress McGonagall had had her perform for him during his first private lesson. The way she had danced that day was nothing like he had ever seen before. 

Watching her now, it was obvious that her talent carried over to the ice. 

Draco followed Hermione’s form as she moved with that same grace and precision he had seen in the studio. He found himself unable to look away, his heart thumping in his chest and his stomach an impossibly-tangled knot. 

She jumped with ease and spun with a wide smile on her face. How long had she been skating exactly? There was no way she was a newcomer. Draco knew girls who had been skating for as long as he had and couldn’t make it look half as easy. 

Draco rather liked the song she had picked. The orchestra soared much as she did. As she completed a sit spin and headed into the final moments of her performance, he felt his mouth grow dry. This was it. This was the girl. She had to be. 

Only once the music stopped did Draco tear his eyes away to see the others’ reactions. 

Hermine’s parents were beaming with pride, clapping enthusiastically. His mother seemed pleased, which was saying something. The coaches also looked impressed. 

“Very good, Miss Granger,” Mr. Snape called out. “Come over here and take Mr. Malfoy’s hand. Let’s go through some basic ice dancing steps.” 

Draco stepped onto the ice for the first time that day and skated over to where Hermione stood in the middle of the rink. As he ended in a t-stop at her side, he held out a hand. 

When she gripped it tightly, his stomach flip-flopped. He had to get this right.

They skated three laps holding hands before Mr. Snape guided them into a starting pose for a waltz. Under careful instruction to let Draco lead, Hermione followed directions to perfection. She read the subtle cues he gave her from the pressure of his hand on her back. Dancing with her didn’t feel awkward. Not once did they crash or even bump into each other. 

Dancing with Hermione actually felt… nice. As they danced and skated together, a sort of energy built up around them. He could feel it. It was definitely different than skating with any of the other girls from last week. Draco wondered if she could feel it too. 

Mr. Snape continued to direct them around the ice, testing various holds and basic dance patterns. When he had skated with all the other girls, he had known instinctively by this point that they were not the correct choice. 

But now… he had another instinct blooming in his chest. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, he knew something about his moment, right here, skating with Hermione, felt incredibly right. 

When they were finally called back, he automatically squeezed Hermione’s hand before he skated back toward the adults. 

“I liked that,” Hermione whispered as they climbed off the ice. “You’re not half-bad.” 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he whispered back.

“Not a tutu-wearing ninny?” 

“Definitely not. And my posture?” 

“Picture perfect.”

They grinned at each other as they placed the guards over their blades and walked heavily over to the coaches and parents. 

Draco turned to his mother first, puffing out his chest a bit. “Well? Didn’t I tell you?” 

“You were correct, Draco. She skates quite well. In fact, she reminds me of myself at her age.” 

Hermione’s dad stepped in. “That’s quite a compliment coming from someone of your calibre, Narcissa.” He then turned to his daughter and wrapped his arms around her, nudging Draco off to the side a bit. “You did such a good job, bug. I’m so proud of you.” 

“Right,” Mr. Snape cut in. “Based on what I saw, I’m optimistic. If you two pursue a partnership, it will be a long, difficult road ahead, but if you’ll have me, I’d like the opportunity to coach you.” Draco watched his mother’s eyes light up. This man had won an ice dancing Olympic bronze medal back in 1984, and was known to be incredibly picky about which skaters he worked with. Getting him on board would be a game-changer. Draco’s eyes widened as Mr. Snape leaned down to talk to Hermione and him. “Competition in the amateur ice dancing world is relentless and demands perfection. Your parents may consent for you to pursue a partnership, but in the end, the decision comes down to you.”

Draco looked to Hermione, and what he saw only confirmed his gut feeling: he saw fire. 

Suddenly, the idea of sharing a podium and a gold medal with someone didn’t seem so bad. As long as this someone was Hermione. 

~*~*~*~

After only three weeks of training together, it was clear that Hermione had been the right choice. 

Although Draco missed the freedom that came with skating alone, sharing ice time with someone else was actually kind of fun. Despite his early impressions of her, Hermione wasn’t completely awful. True, she was hyper-focused when she needed to be, but that’s one of the reasons she turned out to be a good partner. All the other girls who auditioned, Pansy included, would have spent more time chatting about inane things or complaining. 

But not Hermione. From the moment she laced up her skates, she was all in. She took criticism in stride and always had a kind of fire in her eyes that Draco had never seen before. She trained with an intensity that rivaled his. 

Draco supposed that’s why they were compatible. 

And although Father had insisted that liking his partner wasn’t necessary, he found that she was actually interesting to be around. Not necessarily  _ fun _ , but  _ interesting _ , certainly. 

Hermione was very smart—Draco learned quickly that she was the kind of girl who strove for perfection in all things. Not only was she a ballerina and a skater, she also was a huge swot. Somehow, it didn’t come as a shock when he saw her sitting on a bench during a break, a science textbook open in her lap. 

He’d made fun of her at first, squatting beside her and trying to push her buttons a bit. But when she seemed entirely unruffled by his jesting for several days, he gave up, choosing to sit beside her instead. 

It turned out that Hermione knew a lot about all kinds of things. Way more things than he did. Music, Art, History, Maths… 

Draco sometimes wondered if there was anything she  _ didn’t _ know about.

The meaner side of him—the side that had always been encouraged by Pansy and, to a degree, his parents—wanted to taunt her in some way. To laud her swottiness over her just for fun. 

But the practical side of him knew better. If he made her life difficult, there was nothing stopping her from leaving their arrangement. And that was the last thing Draco wanted. She was a good skater and ambitious to boot. 

And sometimes, if he squinted, she was nice. Even a little fun. 

More than most people, Hermione actually put up with his incessant skating talk. Not only did she listen, but she usually chimed in with her own opinions. They had nice chats in between their skating practices. He would tell her stories about some of the crazy competitions he had attended; in turn, she told him ballet stories which were surprisingly intriguing—like the old instructor of hers who used to file one of her fingernails to a sharp point and poke dancers where she wanted them to engage their muscles.

“Are you serious?” he asked as he slung his skating bag over his shoulder after practice. Draco was sure his eyebrows were about to disappear past his hairline. 

“As a heart attack. Madam Umbridge was kind of the worst.” She made a face and followed him toward the lobby. 

“And I thought Binns was bad. I actually fell asleep during one of his lessons once. Nearly fell flat on my arse on the ice.” 

“Draco—language!” Hermione scowled at him whenever he cursed, but behind her frown, he could see a slight twinkle in her eye.

“Oh, er… sorry.” 

Hermione, as it turned out, was decent company. Even if she was a bit of a stick in the mud, talking with her was still a good distraction. Without her there, Draco was sure that he would feel close to drowning. Although he had been skating all his life, ice dancing was completely different from regular figure skating, and it almost felt like starting from scratch. He likely would have thrown more tantrums had he been paired with anyone else. Even Pansy. She’d seen him at his most petulant, after all. 

But for some reason, the idea of throwing a tantrum around Hermione seemed immature. Silly. 

At the end of the day, she was new to ice dancing too, and they both had a lot of work to do. With competition season drawing nearer and nearer with each passing summer day, nearly every minute of every day was spent in training. It was rigorous and completely exhausting. They woke up early each day for skating practice and then trained in dance in the afternoons. Draco was sure he had never trained so hard in his life, and after a few weeks, he still fell into bed completely drained every night. 

Down time was so rare these days that he really enjoyed every spare moment he got. And in the moments in between dance rehearsals and skating practices and costume fittings, it was nice to have her there. 

And she was there all the time.

They took ballet lessons with Mistress McGonagall together twice a week. While Hermione was unquestionably the better dancer, Draco was improving. Ballet was finally starting to make sense, and he found himself actually looking forward to his time spent in the dance studio. Though his black tights and slippers had initially left him feeling exposed, he now felt oddly weightless when he pulled them on. 

Perhaps it was that he finally felt purpose as he practiced pirouettes, or perhaps it was that his competitive nature kicked in when he watched Hermione dance with such skill; all he knew was that ballet didn’t seem so bad any more. 

Even when Mistress McGonagall glared at him for making mistakes or when he practiced simple sequences until his feet ached, it all seemed worth it when Hermione joined him to do simple lifts under their teacher’s watchful eye. 

He still couldn’t say that he loved ballet, but Draco found it infinitely preferable to the other dance lessons he was forced to endure with Hermione

In any other setting, Draco could see himself may be enjoying social dance. There was something refined about learning to waltz and foxtrot, and Hermione was, as always, an excellent dance partner. 

But the problem wasn’t the actual dancing. It was their instructor. 

This particular woman was not affiliated with Mistress McGonagall in the slightest. She had come highly recommended, and if there was one thing that mattered to Mother, it was reputation. That’s how he and Hermione had ended up taking lessons with Madam Trelawney. 

This woman couldn’t have been more of an opposite from Mistress McGonagall. 

While the ballet studio was always immaculate and well-organized, Madam Trelawney kept her classroom filled with decades of dance-related baubles that were scattered about higglety pigglety, some stuffed in corners and others crowded on high, dusty shelves. 

Upon first setting foot in the studio a month ago, Draco and Hermione had shot each other knowing, wide-eyed looks. Though Mother assured him that she had searched far and wide for a teacher with a good reputation and a history of success, he just wasn’t sure. True, one of those disgusting-looking shelves was filled to bursting with trophies, medals, certificates, and even an odd sort of statue that looked like a crystal ball, but the old bat seemed too...well,  _ batty _ … to have earned that number of awards. 

Hermione had been  _ Hermione _ about it all. At least at first. 

During their first few lessons, she had listened with rapt attention, eyes trained on their teacher with the same sharp focus she gave McGonagall, Snape, and Hooch. When Draco dared to snigger at her magnified eyes or exaggerated words, she would elbow him in the ribs or shoot daggers from her eyes. 

After a while, though, cracks started appearing, and she started sniggering right along with him.

“You must possess the soul of a dancer if you are ever to be a dancer!” Madam Trelawney wailed as they waltzed across the floor. 

Although she’d said the exact same thing before, this time, Hermione burst out laughing. Draco joined her, and before Madam Trelawney could misinterpret the situation as she always did, they were both rolling on the floor uncontrollably. 

From then on, Hermione’s mischievous side began appearing bit by bit.

The crystal ball-looking thing on one of the higher shelves intrigued the children, and when Madam Trelawney wasn’t looking, they would often speculate what it was. Hermione thought it had to be a poor replica of a disco ball. Draco was convinced the woman was a witch. 

“I bet she uses it to summon demons or something,” he posited as they took a water break.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Draco.” Hermione rolled her eyes—something that was happening more often these days. “She probably just loves The Beegees or something.” 

To solve this conundrum once and for all, Draco dared Hermione to touch it when Madam Trelawney wasn’t looking. Which would be quite a feat, considering the woman watched them nearly constantly behind her spectacles with mad-looking, magnified eyes. 

Their opportunity came on a sweltering afternoon after they’d spent nearly an hour sweating through new waltz variations. The woman had puttered off to fix herself a cup of tea, and Hermione turned to him, a wild blaze in her eye. 

“Let’s do it.” 

Putting all the techniques he had learned from Mistress McGonagall to use, Draco lifted Hermione to the dusty trophy shelf to get a closer look. Her slippered feet sat on his narrow shoulders, his hands wrapped soundly around her ankles. Unfortunately, it seemed that Hermione’s balance, while excellent, didn’t quite hold when her base wasn’t as solid or unmoving as a floor. It took several precarious seconds of wobbling about before they straightened enough for her to grab hold of the shelf. 

“Hurry, hurry!” Draco urged, straining his ears to listen for the sound of Trelawney’s mismatched boots tapping back in their direction. 

“I’m trying, but everything is covered in dust,” she hissed down at him, coughing as if to prove her point. After another few very long seconds, Hermione shook above him. She wasn’t heavy at all. On the contrary, she was a wispy girl. The problem was his shoulders. They were just too small to support her. As if he wasn’t busy enough, Draco mentally added strength training to his training list. Shaking like this just wouldn’t do on the ice. 

“Come on, Hermione. She could be back any second. Is it real or not?” He hurled the words upward as his hands gripped her calves for dear life.

From above, he heard the telltale sound of hollow glass being tapped on. Relief coursed through him. This was about to end. His shoulders were beginning to burn and he didn’t fancy being caught. 

“You were right! It’s a real crystal ball! Now get me down.” 

Draco reached higher and grasped Hermione’s legs. “Ready? One, two—” 

From the hallway, the sound of Trelawney’s returning footsteps reached his ears. He gripped Hermione’s thighs harder, urging her to jump down onto the floor. She sailed past him and landed in a very catlike way on her feet.

No sooner had Hermione straightened than the door swung open. “Ah, children. I thought I told you to practice your twinkles. Let’s see them! Twinkle, twinkle!” 

Draco shot Hermione a secret grin before holding her in the closed position. 

“Ready, and: one, two, three; one, two, three—”

  
“I can’t believe it. A real witch.” Hermione hissed the words in his ear as they twinkled around the room. He shot her a secret grin in return.

If there was another reason to like Hermione, this was it: she was excellent at holding back her emotions when she worked. And with the very rare exception of their first laugh together, she was especially good when it came to hiding a case of the giggles. Perhaps even better than he was. 

The two of them began to follow the steps that Trelawney had assigned them. Draco held onto his partner tightly, mostly because he had been told to, but also because she had a terrible tendency to not let him lead. 

“Come on, Hermione,” he whispered as their shoulders met in the twinkle, “Trust me. Let me lead.” 

Arm up. Into the turn. 

“Then lead properly,” she muttered back as they crossed each other. 

He stuck his tongue out at her. 

She stuck hers back. 

“Focus, children,” Trelawney snapped, sipping her tea. “I don’t recall telling you to do a turn.” 

“It just felt right,” Draco commented as they danced, continuing to lead Hermione around the dance floor. She snorted a laugh. 

Before he realized what was happening, she had rearranged her grip and dipped him so low that he thought his hair brushed the ground. From above him, Hermione shot him a silly grin. 

“Don’t you dare drop me,” he hissed. 

“I would never. Scout’s honour.” 

She pulled him back up and rearranged her hands back to the follow position.

“Keep dancing, children.” Trelawney cried, sweeping about the room dramatically. “Feel the music coursing through you!” 

The two children barely hid their giggles as their instructor continued to rave about the importance of  _ feeling  _ the music. 

~*~*~*~

There was no giggling whatsoever whenever they walked into the skating arena each morning long before the crack of dawn. Being public institutions, skating rinks could typically only be used privately during odd times. The rest of the day, group classes and public skates filled the ice with tiny children, teenagers on dates, and way too many people falling. The only time to get even an inch in edgewise was to show up around five a.m. 

Most mornings, the two eleven year-olds dragged their feet through the doors to the arena, sleep still in their eyes. This alone would have been enough to keep solemn expressions on their faces if their new coaches hadn’t been so draconian in their approach. 

No, the perfect storm of sleepiness and stringent coaching kept their faces straight during skating practice. 

Mr. Snape was the biggest taskmaster Draco had ever worked with. Even more than McGonagall, and certainly more than the old fogey his parents had hired to coach him for years. From the moment they stepped onto the ice until they pulled their skates off three hours later, Snape ran them ragged. He had choreographed their routine for the season, and he clearly accepted nothing less than perfection. 

And then once they had memorized a sequence, Madam Hooch stepped in to adjust the angles of their arms and the curve of their torsos. 

Back and forth they were passed between the two coaches until they collapsed onto benches just off-ice five mornings a week right when the clock struck nine a.m. Draco would have hated the whole thing if it hadn’t been for the progress he saw them making every day. In only a matter of weeks, he had gone from resenting the mere thought of taking ballet to practicing smooth turns on the ice while matching leg positions with Hermione. 

And they were improving. Quickly. 

So quickly, in fact, that Snape had adjusted their routine multiple times to make it more difficult. 

It had been an unspoken challenge between Draco and Hermione: Learn a new move from Snape or Madam Hooch; Try to master it before the other one. Move after move, routine after routine, they learned everything thrown at them to near perfection. 

It was during these weeks leading up to their first competition that Draco learned about Hermione’s competitive streak. It had started innocently enough: joking around seeing who could perform a choctaw better. This kind of turn was one he had been performing for a long time, and he easily alternated his weight between his feet as he executed the turn.

It turned out that Draco was better at this. Obviously. 

Hermione didn’t like that. So she challenged him to see who could twizzle for longer. 

This didn’t surprise him in the least. She always loved spins.

The two held their hands to their chests and spun tightly, smiles dancing on their lips as they grew dizzier and dizzier.

Unfortunately, Snape was far more observant than Madam Trelawney. He caught them red-handed making them stay late to do planks and then run through their routine three extra times.

Exhausted didn’t even begin to describe the way Draco felt as he landed the final pose for the day. Looking over at Hermione, it didn’t come as a surprise that she looked like she was ready to drop. They grumbled as they left practice that day, but as they passed through the doors to the rink, Draco caught Hermione’s eye and they exchanged a small smile. 

They may have suffered a bit at their coach’s hands, but it didn’t seem too bad if they did it together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are just so competitive. I had so much fun writing their childhood shenanigans. Some of you might wonder what song Hermione skated to in her audition... you'll find out! Any guesses? It'll be hard to pinpoint, most likely.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After only two months of training together, Draco and Hermione face their first competition season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to be blown away by the response to this fic. It means the world. Now let's see these two skate!
> 
> Major thanks as always to Graceful Lioness.

**Autumn 2001**

Competition season for all figure skaters took place in the autumn, with intensity increasing as the year went on. For Draco and Hermione, that meant that they began competing together after just two months of practice. 

He had been worried about feeling underprepared with such little experience under their belts, but all the squirming in his stomach and biting his nails evaporated when they won their first competition. 

Medals still around their necks, they had begged Dr. Granger—Hermione’s dad—to take them to the water park during its last week of the season. After some clearly-fake hemming and hawing, he agreed. The two of them spent the rest of the afternoon going down water slides, splashing each other in the pool, and floating down the lazy river. 

Although Father had told him on a handful of occasions to keep this partnership strictly professional, Draco found more and more that he liked spending time with Hermione. There was something very simple about their relationship. With Pansy, as soon as he got old enough to really consider it, Draco felt like she was using him. For what, he really wasn’t sure. 

What he  _ was _ sure of, was that there wasn’t even a glint of selfishness or insincerity in Hermione’s eyes or laugh as they passed their first relaxing afternoon in months together at the pool. 

It was nice, having a friend. 

_ Because that’s what she was,  _ Draco thought as he waved goodbye, a towel around his shoulders as he stepped into the backseat of the Malfoy family town car.  _ A friend.  _

Being a friend didn’t stop him from teasing her mercilessly, though. 

Sometimes, he teased her about her freakish flexibility. Other times he teased her about her complete and utter swottiness. He tried to tease her about her hair once—it turned out that when her usual bun was undone, it was a wild mane of uncontrollable curls. 

That particular teasing didn’t go as planned. He actually made her cry with that jab. 

It was then that Draco did something he very rarely did: apologize. 

“I didn’t mean to be such a git,” he’d said to a still-distraught Hermione as they sat backstage at a competition in Sheffield. “I just can’t help it sometimes. I like your hair, actually.” 

Hermione offered him a watery smile between sniffs. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Draco reached forward and tugged on one of her curls, watching it bounce a little. “It’s fun. And—” He turned a bit pink around the ears, “—it’s pretty, too.” 

She beamed at him and turned a bit pink, too.

Knowing Hermione’s boundaries helped Draco not to cross them again. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t simply push her buttons every once in a while. 

“Who on earth studies all this stuff?” Draco mocked as he sat beside Hermione on their way to a competition in Birmingham halfway through October. A thick maths textbook sat open on her lap in the back seat of her dad’s car, and she’d been studying during the entire car ride so far. 

Draco, who had grown bored of staring out the window in silence, decided that bothering Hermione was a much better, more amusing alternative. 

“Anyone who wants to do well in school,” she shot back, not bothering to look up from her book. 

“I do well in school.”

“Well  _ enough _ . I want to excel.” 

“God, you’re such a swot!” 

“And you’re such a prat.” 

“Oi, oi!” Hermione’s Dad called from the front seat. “That’s enough name calling for one car ride, I think.” His eyes flashed in Draco’s direction in the rearview mirror. “Draco, Hermione likes to study. Hermione, I’m sure Draco is a perfectly acceptable student.” 

The mini lecture stopped him from bugging Hermione for the rest of the trip, though in the newfound silence Draco fell into another line of thought. 

Hermione’s dad—Dr. Granger—was unlike any parent he had ever met. He had been their chaperone for every competition this season, shuttling them all over England to compete weekend after weekend. Sometimes, if the location was particularly far away, he’d get the three of them a hotel room and order in a pizza. If he was feeling particularly generous, he let Draco and Hermione bicker for control of the remote.

If his own mother and father had chaperoned, they would have never stooped so low as to share a room with two eleven year-olds and eat a greasy slice of pizza straight out of the box. 

Draco also considered the way Hermione’s dad acted whenever they were at a competition. He always found a seat as close to the ice as he could manage so that when it was their turn to skate, he was easy to find. 

Him and his massive, colourful signs. 

Sometimes they had simple messages like “Go Hermione and Draco!” 

Other times they were just collages of Hermione’s childhood photos. 

Whenever they entered and their names were called, Draco could hear Dr. Granger over the rest of the crowd, whooping and clapping enthusiastically.

His parents clapped politely at best. If they were paying attention. If they were even there. 

Unlike Mother and Father, Dr. Granger actually seemed excited about the prospect of sitting in a chilly arena for two days while watching mostly mediocre skating. When they weren’t warming up or performing, he and Hermione came out to the stands to watch with him. Dr. Granger always took impeccable notes on all the performances they missed. He kept a special notebook on his person for this specific purpose. 

“They’re the ones to beat,” he would say, pointing at one of the pairs. “But this pair did spins really well. What are they called again?” 

“Twizzles, Dad.” 

“Right. Twizzles. I keep wanting to say pirouettes. Well anyway, they were good.”

At the beginning of the season, Dr. Granger’s presence made Draco’s entire body tense. The only experiences he had with lingering parents weren’t positive ones; if Mother or Father bothered to show up to low-level competitions, which was a rare thing, they were full of near-constant nitpicking and criticism. 

So to hear encouragement instead of comments about sloppiness or laziness was different at first. Draco wasn’t sure he liked or trusted the positivity coming from Dr. Granger’s mouth. It seemed trite and frankly, unbelievable. 

Yet the more he listened, the more he thought that Hermione’s dad wasn’t completely ridiculous. His praise was never over-the-top. It was simply encouraging. He’d say something like, “You did so well today! Your waltz is getting smoother,” or “Your transitions have improved so much. I’m so proud of the both of you.” 

After a while, Draco found it to be… nice. He stopped furrowing his eyebrows every time Dr. Granger waved one of his ridiculous signs about at competitions. He didn’t retract in suspicion anymore when he received praise for simply attending a competition. 

Instead, he tried something different. 

When they placed second at a competition in Devon and Dr. Granger offered congratulations and a hug to Hermione, Draco accepted a pat on the shoulder and even whispered a quiet, “Thanks.” 

He could not help the pang of jealousy that filled him as he witnessed the same scene week after week. Had Hermione always had such keen support when she danced? Even when she was young and danced poorly? Even when she made mistakes? Because Dr. Granger congratulated and praised them, even when they didn’t win. Even when Hermione slipped or Draco forgot a moment of choreography. 

Sometimes, he even took them for ice cream after such incidents. They’d sit together and lick their cones and talk of pleasant things. 

Draco preferred to eat in silence, dwelling on all the what-ifs and could-have-beens. He didn’t want to get accustomed to such a gentle approach. In his experience, people like that didn’t last long in his life. If they knew the sorts of fluff Dr. Granger was putting in his head, Mother and Father might insist on chaperoning themselves. 

He might have found Dr. Granger’s approach to be a bit confusing, but it was far preferable to the alternative.

“If you feel you gave it your all, then you’re a winner in my book,” Hermione’s dad said when he noticed Draco’s silence after they just missed the podium by placing fourth at a competition in Manchester. “And even though I don’t view third place as failing, there’s no shame in failure. No matter who may tell you something like that.”

It all left him with a sour taste in his mouth and a kind of anger bubbling inside that he had never felt before. He wasn’t quite sure why, though. 

So he didn’t say much else, content to finish his mint chocolate chip cone in the back seat of the Granger’s car. 

Most of the season passed this way; their scores and placements improved as the weeks passed, and Dr. Granger’s praise grew just the same. By the time the leaves began to fall and a bright chill bit the air, Draco found himself shocked that he felt happier about skating than he ever had before. True, he’d always felt at home on the ice, but there was a joy and a reassurance about knowing he had people by his side…  _ on _ his side, no matter the outcome. 

That’s why it felt so much sweeter when the call came in November that they would have a shot at the national title in their division. 

Hermione had phoned him in tears on the morning the announcement was made. Draco tried to be patient as she blubbered on about something over-sentimental. As excited as he was, he was eager to hang up after only thirty seconds. Girls and their tears… he wasn’t the best at handling those things. Whenever Pansy cried in front of him, he just awkwardly patted her back until he could think of an excuse to leave. 

This time was no different. He found himself thanking her and hanging up before he could hear even one more sniffle. 

Mother and Father were pleased when they found out he and Hermione had qualified to compete for the division title. To celebrate, they took him out to a fancy French restaurant and ordered champagne for themselves. 

Still, he didn’t hear a single, “You should be proud,” or, “There’s no shame in failing.” 

Draco found himself envious when Hermione later told him that her dad had prepared a roast to mark the occasion, and her parents had taken her out to see  _ Monster’s Inc _ . 

She told him all about it as they sat in a hotel room in Liverpool on the night before their first big competition. Her dad was sharing the room with them, but had fallen asleep within an hour of checking in. He laid on the bed closer to the window, snoring away in the warm, orange glow of the bedside lamp. 

Draco and Hermione sat on the floor in front of the adjacent bed, munching on crisps and watching the telly on the lowest volume setting. 

“Did you ever believe there were monsters under your bed or in closets?” 

Draco scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I ever think such things?” 

Hermione reached for another handful of crisps. “Because you were small and gullible. I know I did for a time.” 

“You? Miss Knowledge and Facts?  _ You _ believed in monsters?” 

“Just for a time. But then I read in a book that they weren’t real, and it was over after that.” 

Draco chuckled and grabbed crisps, too. “Of course it was a book that did it for you.” 

Hermione placed her hands on her hips in mock indignation and stuck her tongue out at him. He returned the gesture and moved to face the telly again. As he watched, he tapped his fingers against his leg. 

“Are you nervous?” Hermione asked during a commercial break as she drew her pyjama-clad legs up to her chest. 

Draco blinked. “What? Why?”

“It’s just… you’re biting your lip. I’m afraid it might bleed.” 

Reaching up, he brushed his fingertip against his lower lip. It was a little raw. He’d been chewing it unconsciously. 

“So  _ are _ you?”

“Am I what?”

“Nervous.” 

Draco sighed. “A little, I guess.” He fished out a few crumbs from the bottom of the crisp bag. “I’ve skated in big competitions, but always alone.” 

“I thought that would make you less nervous.” Hermione leaned back onto the bed. “Having someone with you, I mean. To calm you down if you get worked up.” 

Draco shrugged. “I guess. I’m just used to working alone. But I think we’re going to win, so I shouldn’t be nervous anyway.” 

“Well if you’re not nervous, then I’m not going to be either.” 

Hermione sat up and crossed her legs in front of her, rolling her shoulders back as if she could actually shake off her nerves. She scooted away from the bed and turned so she faced him, an earnest look on her face. 

“Let’s do this.” Hermione held out her hand. He grabbed it and squeezed. “Let’s win.” 

Only when their small moment of solidarity had passed did his partner give a huge yawn, her mouth opening wider than Draco thought possible. 

“You look really tired,” he commented, tilting his head to get a proper look at her face. 

Hermione shook her head. “No more than normal.” 

“Well that’s not saying a lot.” Draco snorted, and Hermione furrowed her brow indignantly. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Draco paused for a second. If he told her that she had been looking tired for a long time, would she be offended? He knew from time spent with Mother that women didn’t like for their physical appearance to be commented on unless it was a compliment. Did Hermione follow this same pattern? He considered just forgetting about his comment—saving his own skin and avoiding the risk of an awkward conversation. But it had been drilled into him for the past several months that he needed to support his skating partner both on and off the ice. Fighting his instincts, he plowed forward anyway. “I just mean you’ve had bags under your eyes for months.” 

The words hung between the two of them for several long moments as Hermione reached up to her face, patting the spots he had mentioned. 

“Have I?” 

“Yes. And you just seem exhausted all the time. Are you… okay?” Draco’s insides squirmed as he asked these questions, but something told him it was the right thing to do. 

Hermione leaned forward to rest her chin in her hands. She sighed. “I guess I’m okay.”

“But you don’t look okay.” 

Hermione’s mouth fell open.

“I don’t mean like that!” Draco protested, blushing. “I just mean that you look completely knackered half the time we’re together.” 

It was Hermione’s turn to blush. “Oh. I-I guess I’ve just been busy. That’s all.” 

Draco snorted. “Both of us are busy, but you don’t see me looking like I could fall asleep in the middle of practicing twizzles.” 

He watched as tears welled in her eyes. “I… I didn’t realise it was that obvious. Oh, I’m so stupid!” She buried her face in her arms, now wrapped around her knees. 

“You’re not stupid.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.” 

Draco spoke these words firmly as Hermione peeked out from behind her arms.

“You’re not stupid. Not by a long shot.” Draco offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He was so bad with crying girls. But there was no running away this time. He forced himself to continue. “You’re just tired. And if you would just tell me why then maybe I could help you or something.” 

Hermione had the audacity to raise her eyebrows at him. 

“ _ What? _ You’re my skating partner, and if you go down then so do I.” He nudged her with his elbow. “I’m only being selfish here.” 

The smirk on his face drew out a twitch on her lips. 

“Oh, fine,” She huffed, turning her head to lay it on her knees and looking at him sideways. “I guess I’m so tired because I’m still taking private ballet lessons.” 

“You’re  _ what? _ ” Draco blanched. He had, of course, given up his individual skating lessons after he began his partnership with Hermione. “That would mean that—” He paused, trying to do the calculations in his head. “When do you have time for all that? We don’t have any time. We skate all morning and take dance lessons until supper. When on earth do you take private ballet lessons?” 

“I take them after supper, until nine o’clock. Nine-thirty on days we have lessons with Trelawney.” 

Draco’s eyebrows shot up. “And when exactly do you do your homework? Because I know you’re incapable of  _ not _ studying. When do you sleep?” 

Hermione shifted, her fingers picking at a bit of carpet sticking up from the rest. “Well, I usually go to bed around midnight and wake up around four.” 

Draco’s eyes grew wide and his stomach dropped to his feet. Any lingering awkwardness that he felt at Hermione’s tears now vanished and was replaced with indignation. “That’s only four hours! Are you mad? As athletes, we’re supposed to get a full night’s rest. Every. Single. Night.”

“I know—”

“Do you?” Draco pushed. “You’re not stupid, Hermione. You know that most recovery happens while we’re resting. If you keep this up, there’s no way we’re going to get very far. You’ll be too spent before we even get to the big competitions. Not only that, but you could get hurt!” 

Despite his anger, he kept his voice down as he chastised Hermione. Dr. Granger was sleeping only a few feet away.

If he thought that his exasperation would somehow snap Hermione out of her tearful state, he was sorely mistaken. Instead, she sniffed as tears rolled down her cheeks. 

His stomach roiled with discomfort.

“I’m sorry!” she sobbed into her sleeve. “I just… I couldn’t bear to see my dream die. I put so much work into ballet. I loved it for so long and I didn’t want to throw it all away. By becoming your ice dance partner, do you understand what I had to give up?  _ The Royal Ballet School. _ They wanted me. Do you understand what kind of opportunity that is?” 

Draco shook his head, a hint of sheepishness creeping into his discomfort. 

Hermione’s shoulders slumped. Her tears slowed. “I don’t want to disappoint Mistress McGonagall or any of the other teachers who put years into my training. I don’t want to disappoint myself.” 

She was spilling her whole heart out for him to see. As much as it made him want to turn away, he couldn’t help but admire her courage. 

“I get that,” Draco offered. “I had to stop my singles figure skating training to start ice dancing with you.”

“How did you do it?” Hermione asked, wiping her tears away. “How did you give up the thing you had spent years working toward? How did you let your dream die?”

Draco shrugged. “When my parents tell me to do something, I have to follow. They told me to ice dance, so now I ice dance.”

“But surely you could have told them you wanted to stay in singles. If I had told my parents that I didn’t want to continue ice dancing, I’m positive they would allow me to simply return to ballet.” 

“You’re forgetting who my parents are,” Draco scoffed. “Two skating Olympic medalists. They know everyone there is to know, and I get moved around like a chess piece depending how they and their friends in high places see fit.” 

“That’s horrible. What about what you want?  _ Your _ dream?” 

Draco shifted his legs so they jutted out onto the carpet in front of him and leaned back onto the side of the bed.

“My dream is to win Olympic gold,” he stated simply. “And I don’t care how I get there.” 

“That seems stupid.” Hermione turned to face him. “Getting to the Olympics takes too much work to not be passionate about what you’re doing. Do you think you could ever be passionate about ice dancing?” 

Draco paused. Certainly, he was passionate about skating. That much he knew. The moments he felt most free had always been on the ice. But ice dancing? Skating with someone so closely that he would practically know them by heart? Putting all that extra time into dance lessons that he could otherwise have spent on the ice? 

It was hard to feel passionate about every aspect of ice dancing, that was for sure. 

“It’s growing on me,” he said after a minute. “Skating with you is nice. And the dancing isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.” 

“That doesn't exactly sound too enthusiastic, but suppose I’ll take it.” She sighed and shifted again. “I think my problem is that I’m passionate about too many things. I love dance  _ and _ skating  _ and _ school. If something doesn’t give out soon, I think I may actually collapse.” 

Draco raised his eyebrows. “We can’t have that. If you fall out on the ice, it’ll ruin our scores entirely.” 

“Oh, yes, we wouldn’t want to lower our score because of a health emergency, now would we?” 

Draco gave her a little shove and she gave one back. 

“I’ll work on being more enthusiastic if you promise to stop being  _ so _ enthusiastic,” he offered, holding out his hand. She took it and shook it vigorously. 

“Deal. I’ll talk to my mum about cutting back on ballet. I’m tired of feeling so tired.” 

Draco felt exhaustion creep up his spine until his mouth opened in a large yawn. Beside him, Hermione did the same. In an unspoken agreement, they both turned off the telly and crawled into the queen size bed. He kept to one side of the bed and she, to the other. 

Lying beneath the covers, Draco closed his eyes and waited for sleep to carry him off. As he drifted, visions of the first time he saw Hermione skate filled his head. She really was amazing. Even if she was a little too passionate for her own good, he was lucky to have her as a partner. The way she had looked as she danced with that beautiful song playing in the arena… the image wouldn’t leave his head. 

“Hey Hermione?” he mumbled into the darkness. 

“Mm?” 

“What was that song you skated to during your audition? It was nice. Finding good music is hard.” 

“It’s a waltz from the Princess Diaries movie. I saw it with my mum.” Hermione yawned again. “It’s one of my favorites. Did you see that movie?”

Draco felt his mind slipping away, but he managed to mumble, “Sounds like… a girl’s movie,” before drifting into slumber. 

~*~*~*~

The competition passed in a blur of nerves and excitement. Before Draco could process everything he saw and experienced, his name was being called along with Hermione’s in the award ceremony. They’d won first place in their age and skill division. 

Standing up on that podium with a medal around his neck and Hermione by his side, Draco felt a deep-seated excitement stir within him. They had actually done it: won a national competition—his first national competition ever. And he hadn’t done it alone. The girl beside him, his partner, was there to share the victory with him. Instead of feeling upset or as though his accomplishment was diminished like he had imagined all those months ago, having someone there to hold his hand and to smile at in a moment like this was nice. 

Really nice. 

Hermione grinned from ear-to-ear as cameras flashed before them. Just beyond the cameras, Draco could see his parents’ approving expressions. The two of them had decided that this competition was important enough to attend. Although he wanted to please them, he found that it wasn’t their eyes he sought out. 

Draco beamed when he saw them—Hermione’s parents. Carrying the same wild signs as always, their excitement was unbridled. Her dad looked like he was ready to cry and her mum was waving a huge bouquet of sunflowers back and forth, a large grin plastered on her face. 

When the cameras stepped back, he and Hermione were escorted into a side room, where they took their seats at a small high table with two microphones situated on top. Before them, a group of journalists had gathered. 

Being questioned by the press was nothing like Draco had imagined. Of course, he had watched countless interviews of some of his favorite skaters, but they always seemed to know what to say. So, too, did his parents. He had always been just a room away when magazines, newspapers, and television stations came to call at the manor. But to be the person in front of the camera was very different than looking on from the sidelines. It took several seconds of wide-eyed wonder before he gathered himself enough to answer their questions. 

_ What was his training schedule like? _

_ What was his relationship with Hermione like? _

_ What was it like growing up as the son of two Olympians?  _

Draco did his best to answer without stuttering. 

_ They trained a lot. _

_ They were getting to know each other and got along pretty well. _

_ It made him want to have the same goal.  _

It wasn’t until they were ushered out of the press room and backstage once more that Draco realized something odd: the press hadn’t asked Hermione a single question. It was as though she was invisible. 

He supposed it was because of who his parents were, but he couldn’t be sure. Before he could ask Hermione much about it, she had already gathered her things and waved goodbye. 

“See you in two weeks,” she said sweetly before sweeping from the room with her parents. 

Draco gave a half-hearted wave as he watched her go. After the past six months, two weeks seemed an awfully long time to go without his skating partner. He wasn’t sure what he would do with all this free time. 

To celebrate the victory, the Malfoys dined out at another high-class restaurant that night. Before he dressed in his suit, Draco made sure to hang his new gold medal on the medal stand his parents had recently purchased for him. The thing hung there, gleaming in the lamplight. 

Draco thought it looked rather lonely there, all by itself. 

~*~*~*~

Not even three days into his so-called vacation, Draco Malfoy declared himself officially bored. Even though he still did his usual calisthenics with his father each morning, both school and training were on official holiday. 

He thought about calling Hermione once or twice to see what she was up to. Each time he reached for the receiver, his hand paused. What if Hermione didn’t want to see him? What if she thought he was strange or clingy for wanting to chat outside of practice, like he viewed Pansy? 

The thoughts were enough to make him draw his hand away. 

But that didn’t stop him from missing her in some odd sort of way. 

On the fifth day of his holiday, a peculiar thought crossed Draco’s mind. Even all these months later, the very first routine he had seen Hermione perform on ice hadn’t left him. The way she had skated that day remained in the back of his mind, even now. That day, she had skated differently than any other girl he had ever seen before. When they had spoken several days earlier in that hotel room, she had implied that the song was somehow important to her, as well as the movie where it had come from. 

What had it been called, again? Princess… something. Diaries. Yes, that was it.  _ Princess Diaries _ .

Judging by the title, it sounded a bit ghastly. Hermione was a girl, after all. And girls tended to like those sorts of things. 

But Hermione wasn’t just some girl. She was his skating partner; she was someone he needed to get to know better. The way she acted sometimes, putting all that pressure on herself… She was a tough nut to crack. 

Maybe this movie would be a good place to start. 

As soon as he could manage it, Draco called for Dobbs. When the butler arrived, he asked for a copy of the movie with pink cheeks and eyes that wouldn’t quite meet the butler’s. 

“May I ask why the young master has taken an interest in this movie?” Dobbs asked after writing the title down on a small notepad he kept in his jacket pocket. 

“That would be none of your concern,” Draco snapped back. “Now are you going to fetch the movie or not?” 

Smirking only a bit, Dobbs acquiesced. “As you wish, sir.” 

When the DVD appeared on his nightstand later that afternoon, Draco examined the cover with mild interest. There was a pretty girl on it, as well as an older woman he vaguely recognized from somewhere else. 

It looked decidedly girly. 

After double-checking that his doors were locked, Draco popped the DVD into his television and began to watch the movie. Almost immediately, he figured it out. 

Wild frizzy hair… feeling invisible… a beautiful girl buried underneath… this movie was definitely how Hermione thought about herself. Draco thought back to the week before, during their interview. He had taken center stage while she had simply sat there without anyone paying a bit of attention to her. Even though she was smart and even though she was capable and had dreams just as big as he did, she had been invisible up there. 

Draco’s insides squirmed uncomfortably at the thought. Why hadn’t he given Hermione the opportunity to talk? 

_ Next time. There had to be a next time,  _ he thought as he watched Mia dance at the ball with the shaggy-looking boy. 

“Because you saw me when I was invisible,” he parroted the main character’s lines. 

That must be why Hermione loved this movie so much. She wanted to feel like Mia. Unseen by everyone until she suddenly was. Beautiful inside and out. A princess. Draco thought about the way she moved in her ballet slippers and in her skates, and for a moment, he rather thought she did look like a princess. 

And then, of course, his eleven year-old boy sensibilities kicked in and he decided that he felt like spewing for even thinking such a stupid thing. 

As the credits rolled and he tapped his foot to the music, he promised to make sure that Hermione, his equal partner on the ice who had so much to offer, was never overlooked again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mystery movie was... The Princess Diaries! One of my personal favorites, really. 
> 
> Until next week!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the off-season and what better way to pass the time than watch the 2002 Winter Olympics?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you have started guessing the reason for the tension between Draco and Hermione and I have to say...
> 
> My lips are sealed.
> 
> I appreciate every single comment and kudos I receive and I wish I had the time to reply to all of you! It's so encouraging and I'm not afraid to admit that I sit by my inbox like my dog sits by the front door when we're not at home.
> 
> Thanks as always to Graceful Lioness!

**February 2002**

Draco's house wasn't exactly what Hermione had imagined. Frankly, she couldn't imagine anyone living anywhere like… this. The moment her dad's car had approached the manor, her jaw had nearly fallen to the ground. A quick glance at the driver's seat revealed a similar expression on her dad's face.

This house was huge. No, huge wasn't the right word for it. It was massive. Enormous. _Magnificent._ It looked like something straight out of a period drama or the fairytale version of a rich person's house. Iron gates opened up automatically to expansive lawns that Hermione was sure would be brilliantly green in the Spring and Summertime. Just beyond the lawn, the house—if one could really call it that—erupted from the ground, formidable and beautiful in worn brick tones.

"Are you sure this is Draco's house?" Hermione whispered from the back seat, craning her neck as they drove closer.

"This is the address they gave us," Dad conceded. "And—ah, that's him, right?"

A familiar blond head had poked out of the heavy-looking front doors. Hermione grinned.

"Yeah, that's him. You can drop me off anywhere."

Hermione jammed a hat on her head and mittens on her hands before throwing the car door open. "Hi!" she called as she walked toward the giant house. From behind her, she heard the telltale sign of gravel crunching as her dad pulled away.

"Hey." Draco grinned. "Come on in. The event's about to start."

Hermione picked up her pace and skipped up the front steps as Draco held the door open for her. She wasn't sure how it was possible, but from the moment she stepped into the foyer of the house, her jaw dropped even farther than before. An expansive corridor stretched out in front of her, lined by countless doors and a marble staircase on either side. From the ceiling, a chandelier that looked at least a hundred years old hung, showering them in bright, crystal-covered light.

"Do you seriously live here?" she asked as she shimmied out of her jacket.

Draco shrugged. "Yeah. My great-great grandfather founded a pharmaceuticals company, so that's where all this came from. He's the one who bought this place."

Hermione whistled as she took in the marble staircase and the portrait-lined walls. "I'm almost afraid to touch anything."

"You should be," Draco said, chuckling. "This is no place for kids. This part of the house, anyway. My mother would have your head if you so much as think about touching her decorative vase collection."

Draco led them up the stairs and to the left down a carpeted corridor past at least a dozen doors. Hermione wondered how someone could need so many rooms.

"You're an only child, right?" she asked as they made a right turn down another corridor.

Draco nodded. "Yeah. Just me, Mother, and Father.'

Hermione furrowed her brow as they stopped outside a dark door with a wooden sign hanging from it that read in carefully carved letters, "Draco's Room". Any other questions she had fell away as Draco opened the door.

"Th-this is your room?" She marveled at the massive bed, television, couch, and computer.

Draco shrugged again, and this time, Hermione felt a touch of annoyance rise within her. How was he acting so nonchalant about… everything? Based on what she knew about him—the way he bragged about his skating ability, especially—she figured he'd be one to show off.

Yet he kept surprising her. He was taking ballet and all of his dance lessons more seriously these days. His teasing was far more good-natured than it had been last summer.

All in all, he was actually turning out to be kind of nice, which Hermione would have never thought when she first met him in that ballet studio.

"Come on. I had Dobbs prepare us some snacks." He motioned to the couch and grabbed a remote control. They plopped down on the cushions next to each other as the television buzzed to life.

"Ah, it's just about to start!" Draco grinned at the screen as the white-lined Olympic ice rink in Salt Lake City came into focus. As the announcers began narrating the first ice dancing couple's routine, an elderly man with hair growing out of his enormous ears entered the room, tray in hand.

"Master Draco, the snacks you requested." His stiff voice reminded Hermione of old recordings she had heard of kings and dukes and parliamentarians from fifty years ago.

What kind of life did her skating partner live? What had she gotten herself into, committing to skate with him?

These thoughts fell away as the Olympic ice dancing event unfolded on the telly. Thirty minutes into the compulsory dance event and Draco hadn't stopped talking about each pair as they began their skate. Clearly, he was trying to show off how much he knew about skating to her, the novice.

 _Ah_ , Hermione thought. _There was the bragging._

He had memorised statistics about each pair, and went into extreme detail about their strengths and weaknesses.

"—and this one lift they performed during the last Olympics, I'm pretty sure it was called out for being illegal. That's something we'll have to remember!"

Hermione furrowed her brows. "So you're saying we'll have to remember not to do that specific illegal lift?"

"Nah. We just need to remember that I can't ever let go of you during a lift. That'll disqualify us."

Hermione nodded and grabbed another handful of popcorn from the serving bowl sitting between them. As the Russian pair continued their skate, she turned back to Draco.

"Can you even lift me?" she posited, her eyebrow quirking.

After knowing him for over half a year, Hermione knew the glint in Draco's eye when he was offered a challenge. He stood, rolling up his sleeves, and walked over to the part of his bedroom that was free of any furniture. He waved his hand for her to follow him before squaring his shoulders and bending his knees.

"Let's find out, shall we?"

The grin on his face was nothing short of a dare.

Well, if he insisted…

Hermione stood from the couch and dusted the popcorn crumbs from her hands.

"Should I take a running start? Or do you want to just lift me from a stationary start?"

Draco scoffed, spreading his legs to a lunge, his arms extended in front of him. "Stationary starts are too easy. Let's go for running."

Hermione eyed him warily, but pushed her concerns aside. "Okay…"

She rolled her shoulders twice before taking a jogging start straight at Draco. As she felt his hands grip her waist, she was sure they had done it for a few seconds. Her feet lifted off the ground, and her stomach swooped at the feeling of being swept up.

And then Draco began to wobble.

Before Hermione had time to properly brace herself, she and Draco collapsed into a heap on the floor, panting and laughing.

As she watched a great grin spread across Draco's face, his eyes closed mid-laugh, Hermione officially pushed her worries about partnering with him aside. He might have come from an obnoxiously wealthy background and be a bit of a skating snob, but he was easy to laugh with. He was competitive, but not in a mean-spirited way. Not like the way she was used to—girls lined up at the barre, all vying against one another for a single slot in the spotlight.

They liked to one-up each other, but in the end, there was a sort of unspoken agreement that they both just wanted to get better together.

"You okay?" Draco asked after a minute. He was lying beneath her, his stomach still spasming from the laughter that was still bubbling up.

"I think so I—oh, bugger." She had spotted her elbow. It wasn't exactly bleeding, per se, but there was a nasty rug burn about the size of a grape. "I must have gotten this when we fell." She lifted her arm to show Draco. He winced.

"Ouch. Well, come on. Let's see if I can find you a plaster or something."

He plodded over to the door and Hermione followed behind, her opposite hand clutching the injured elbow. They walked back through the maze of corridors, past door after door.

"How on earth do you find your way around this place? It's absurd." They had just passed a second set of stairs leading to what looked like a grand ballroom.

"I dunno. I grew up here. How do you find your way around _your_ house?" He rounded on her with folded arms and feigned anger.

"Because my house only has three bedrooms." She deadpanned.

"Twelve bedrooms, two bedrooms, what's the difference?"

Draco turned around and continued toward what appeared to be a separate wing of the house.

"Twelve— _twelve_ bedrooms? Maddening. Absolutely maddening."

She shook her head as they entered a bedroom even larger than Draco's. Everything inside was opulent, adorned with carved wooden furniture and dark silks.

"Where are we?" Hermione breathed, taking in a jewelry stand with the largest diamond she had ever seen.

"This is my parents' room. It's where the first aid kit is."

Draco led them into the ensuite bathroom, and Hermione fought the urge to hang around awkwardly in the doorway. Entering a bedroom was one thing, but a bathroom? Wouldn't she be intruding if she even thought about going inside? But still, Draco didn't have any reservations, so she took a couple careful steps onto the tile floor. The bathroom looked far more like an opulent day spa than any sort of bathroom she'd ever seen before. The sinks looked like they were made of large but dainty glass bowls and the tub… could that even be considered a tub? It looked more like a small swimming pool to her.

"Ah! Got it!"

Draco had been rummaging around a small closet while Hermione gawked at the lavishness of her surroundings. He withdrew with a plaster in one hand and a tube of antibacterial ointment in the other.

"Right," he said, patting the edge of the tub. "Take a seat and I'll patch you up."

Hermione wasn't sure why her stomach flipped when she sat next to Draco in such proximity. It seemed like a very intimate thing, having someone put a plaster on you. Mum and Dad had done it for her countless times. As had school nurses and some of her teachers. Mistress McGonagall had wrapped her ankle after a bad fall when she was eight.

But this, at least in Hermione's mind, was somehow different.

She had never had a _boy_ put a plaster on her. Maybe that's why she was suddenly filled with nerves as she watched him work, tongue sticking out as he dabbed a bit of cream on her elbow.

 _Yes, that had to be it,_ she reasoned.

No sooner had Draco finished unpeeling the plaster and sticking it over her injured skin, than a figure appeared out of the corner of her eye. Turning her head, she found herself face-to-face with the infamous speed skater, Lucius Malfoy. She'd seen the man before, of course. He'd been present at one of their competitions, but only in the background. Seeing him now… her words got caught in her throat.

How was she supposed to talk to an Olympic gold medalist?

"What's going on here?" Mr. Malfoy drawled as he eyed them.

"Just fixing up Hermione, here," Draco piped up. He uncurled his palm, revealing the crumpled plaster wrappings. "She got a rug burn on her elbow."

Lucius nodded. "I see."

His eyes landed on Hermione and she felt the pale irises bore into her, as though he was trying to get a good read on her. For some reason, she couldn't stop the suspicion that rose inside of her under his gaze. It sat heavy in her stomach, where butterflies had been floating just moments before.

"Will she be fine to skate?" Mr. Malfoy pressed.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Oh yes. I'm fine. See?" She bent her elbow and moved her arm about. "Full range of motion."

Mr. Malfoy raised an eyebrow. He didn't seem impressed. "Very well. If I may, Miss Granger. May I speak to you alone?"

Hermione cocked her head, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Draco did as well.

"Um, sure," she said, rubbing her knees with her palms. "Draco?"

"I'll just be back in my room. Unless—can you find your way back?"

Hermione shrugged. "I think so."

As soon as Draco had left, Mr. Malfoy beckoned her into the master suite, to a display cabinet along the far wall.

"I wanted to show you something," he explained as he opened the cabinet with a key from his pocket. The glass door swung open with a slight squeak. Hermione stood on her tiptoes to get a look of the items that Mr. Malfoy was pulling out with such care. He turned and Hermione gasped.

There, only mere inches from her, were two real, bona fide Olympic medals, one silver and one gold. They glinted in the afternoon sun peeking through the silk curtains.

"Do you know what these are, Miss Granger?" She looked from the medals to Mr. Malfoy's face. His eyebrows were raised expectantly, his mouth thin.

Hermione swallowed. "Um, yes sir. They're medals. Olympic, judging by the five-ring insignia on them."

He stretched his lips even tighter. "Correct. I assume you know about the Malfoy family's history and association with the Olympic Games, do you not?"

A niggling feeling somewhere in her chest told Hermione that this felt more like an interrogation and less like a conversation. Her fingers began to twitch as she held them at her sides.

"Yes, er, you and your wife both won medals in the past. It's well-known in the skating world."

"Exactly." Mr. Malfoy held the gold medal up, as if examining it for specks of dust. "And when we welcomed Draco into the world, we vowed that we would give him every opportunity to reach that same pinnacle: standing on the Olympic podium for the whole world to see. He's been on skates since he was two years-old."

The thought of a pudgy blond toddler falling over on the ice floated through Hermione's mind, and she grinned. "No wonder he's so good then."

"Yes, I know." Hermione's eye came back into focus just in time to see Mr. Malfoy turn and lock the medals away again. "That is precisely why you concern me, Miss Granger."

All the warmth that she felt from thinking about baby Draco melted away in an instant. "E-excuse me?" She looked up at Mr. Malfoy, who suddenly seemed not just tall, but imposing and intimidating. His eyes were narrowed and his haughty face was sneering down at her.

"You should consider yourself quite lucky to be working with someone as talented and well-bred for competition as my son."

Hermione tried to form words, but her tongue failed her.

"You need to watch yourself, Miss Granger. Practice harder than you've ever practiced in your life. Because if I see that you are not as compatible as my son seems to think you are—" Mr. Malfoy clicked his tongue. "—well, let's just say that you, my dear, are common… unexceptional, and can be replaced easily enough. But you, poor, sweet girl. You won't be able to find another partner like Draco again."

He paused, and Hermione felt entirely unnerved by the fire in his eyes.

"Do you understand my expectations then, Miss Granger?"

She was only able to nod.

"Very good. Now, run along."

And with a pat on the head, Hermione knew she was dismissed. She turned on her heel and hightailed it out of the master suite as fast as she could, nearly sprinting down half-familiar corridors until she reached the door with the wooden sign that said ' _Draco's Room'_.

She took nearly a full minute to calm herself before pushing the door open. If she had walked in as is, huffing and puffing with flushed cheeks and red eyes, Draco would have definitely asked what was wrong, and she wasn't sure she wanted to say something like, " _Well, your dad showed me his Olympic medals and then threatened to drop me like a hot potato if I don't work hard enough."_

No, this was a conversation best kept to herself. Mr. Malfoy probably knew she wouldn't tell anyone. And why would she? Skating with Draco had become something she really enjoyed doing, and she was excited to keep skating with him as long as they could be together. It was silly to think after only working with him for a few months. And sure, he could be grumpy and frustrating and dramatic, but he also pushed her to be a better skater than she ever thought she could be.

And he made her smile.

Taking one final breath, she walked back into Draco's room. He was sprawled out on the couch, eyes glued to the telly, popcorn bowl in his arms, his hand mindlessly traveling from the dwindling mound to his mouth. He didn't notice her come in until after she had tiptoed across the room and tapped his ankle.

He nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Oi! Give me some sort of warning! You need a bell on you or something." He scowled, but budged up, making room for her. She obliged and plopped down beside him. The ice dancing event was nearly finished with only three teams left to skate. On commercial break, Draco turned his body to face her.

"What did my father want to talk to you about?" he asked, setting the empty popcorn bowl on the carpet.

Hermione shrugged. "Not much. Just wanted to show me the medals. The… er, Olympic ones."

Draco snorted. "Of course he did. Sometimes he doesn't shut up about them. Goes on and on about how I need to earn one to uphold the family name." He shook his head. "He knows I'm going to get one, lectures from him or not."

Hermione twiddled her thumbs in her lap. "So… a gold medal is that important to you?"

Draco squared his shoulders, sticking his nose in the air. "It's the most important thing to me. The ultimate goal for my life. I'm going to be the best skater in the world. Olympic gold medal or bust!" By the time he finished, he had pumped himself up so much that he was now standing on the couch cushions, fists on his waist.

Hermione couldn't help the chuckle that erupted from within her. His determination was… cute.

And that was why she wasn't intimidated to stay with Draco. He wasn't like his father, completely stuck up and scary. His self-confidence was a good thing, as far as she was concerned.

"Well then, it's gold medal or bust for me as well," she declared, jumping up on the couch to meet him. Their eyes met, and within seconds, grins had split their faces and they collapsed in a fit of giggles.

Stomachs cramped and hands clutched to stitches in their sides, the two of them were so consumed by their own laughter that Hermione didn't even watch the final skating routine of the day. When the telly narrator announced that the bobsledding broadcast would be beginning shortly, Draco clambered for the remote control and shut it off. He sat up with a funny look on his face as Hermione wiped tears of mirth from her eyes.

" _What?"_ she asked after a minute of him looking at her like that.

He furrowed his brow, suddenly serious. "Can I—I want to show you something. Promise you won't laugh?"

It was Hermione's turn to furrow her brow. But only for a moment. She straightened her face and crossed her heart. "I promise."

With a half-grin, Draco scampered across the room to a set of drawers. From within, he withdrew something colorful. It looked like a necklace made of paper and cardboard.

"Hang on," said Hermione as he brought the object back with him. "Is that—?"

"An Olympic medal. Well, sort of," he finished, a blush rising in his cheeks. "I modeled it after my father's."

Hermione inspected the 'medal' in Draco's hand. It did, indeed, look a lot like the real deal she had seen a short while ago. Except, of course, for the materials. He had cut a circle out of cardboard and coloured it yellow. The strap just said "World's Greatest Skater" in sloppy handwriting. A few of the letters were backwards.

"When did you make this?" Hermione asked as she examined it from all angles.

He mumbled his answer. "When I was five."

Hermione laughed. "Don't be embarrassed! It's really adorable, actually."

Draco eyed his childhood creation. "Yeah?"

"It is. Though I can see why you'd be nervous to show it to me." She ducked a bit to meet his eyes, which were trained on the floor. She decided to say a bit more, offering a smile. "Thanks. For trusting me."

He smiled back.

"And I trust you," she added. "Even if you can't lift me properly."

Draco's smile turned to a scowl, though a fake one. "Hey. I can still pick you up, I bet!" Before Hermione could protest, he set down his toy gold medal, bent down, and wrapped his arms around her knees. She shrieked as she felt her feet leave the ground, her whole body pressed against his as he lifted her successfully.

He smirked up at her. "Told you I could."

Hermione felt butterflies erupt in her stomach. Quickly, she searched for something—anything to say.

And then her eyes found something… odd.

"Draco, is that…?" Hermione squinted at the DVD case on top of the telly. She hadn't noticed it before. "Is that _Princess Diaries_?"

He immediately dropped her to her feet. This time, there was no disguising the beet-red flush that crawled up his cheeks. "I, uh—watched it?"

Hermione stabilized herself and strode over to the telly to grab the movie. "I didn't picture you as the princess movie type."

He pursed his lips for a moment, and Hermione could practically see the gears turning in his head. "I just—ah—wanted to hear the music you skated to. The first time I saw you skate. Dobbs found it for me."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "And did you like it?"

"It was okay, I guess."

"Want to watch it again now? My dad's not coming for at least an hour."

Draco scrunched his nose. "Ah, no thanks. It wasn't that much of my cup of tea."

A silence grew between them for a moment, and Hermione felt its awkwardness begin to twist at her toes.

"So what do you want to do, then? Since my dad won't be coming for a bit."

Draco shrugged, his pale complexion slowly returning. "We could watch bobsledding."

"Yeah. All right."

Hermione set the DVD case back on top of the telly and rejoined Draco on the couch.

She wasn't sure what the future would bring—whether there would really be a gold medal waiting for them at the Olympics. She'd train as hard as she could, sure, but her dad always told her when she went in for dance auditions that there were no surefire guarantees in life.

Mr. Malfoy or not, she wanted to keep skating with Draco. She wanted to win as much as she could with him, sharing victories and sharing fun moments like this. She wasn't sure about the butterflies in her stomach, but that could be a problem for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are those... feelings I spy?
> 
> Until next time!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our precious Hermione and Draco officially try lifts for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies! Welcome back to another installment of Subtle Perfection.
> 
> This week, there's a wee bit of a time jump, as you can see. At this point, both Draco and Hermione are 13.
> 
> Brace yourselves for a bit of secondhand embarrassment.
> 
> Thanks as always to the incredible Graceful Lioness

**Summer 2003**

Draco lay spread eagle on the cool, polished floors of the dance studio. Sweat was pouring from every inch of his skin. Would it be possible for the floor to simply absorb him? Maybe that way he'd finally have a chance to cool down.

"Get up! Let's run it one more time!" Madam Trelawney called from her cushioned chair at the front of the room. The beads from her shawl clicked together as she gesticulated wildly with her hands. Not that Draco saw her move, what with his face pressed blissfully into the cool floor. No, she just _always_ moved like that. He groaned at his dance teacher's words. She'd said they'd run it 'one more time' the last four times.

After two years of these kinds of rehearsals, he figured his stamina might finally catch up with him. But given that the difficulty of their dances only ever increased, he always seemed to end up exhausted, out of breath, and covered in sweat no matter what he did.

Something nudged his shoulder. Draco moved his head only slightly, opening one eye just enough to see a familiar, friendly face smiling down at him. Hermione offered him her hand.

"Come on," she said with a grunt as she pulled him to his feet. "The faster we get this right, the sooner we can go home and shower."

Thoughts of delightfully cold water were enough to entice him back to the center of the room. He rolled his shoulders as he took his position opposite Hermione to begin their Lindy Hop routine. It wasn't anything that they would use in competition. Rather, it was the technique they were learning.

Now that both he and Hermione were thirteen, they were old enough to try for the Junior Grand Prix for the first time. Ever since Snape signed them up for the initial competition that could lead to worldwide recognition, he had insisted they brush up on all their dance skills. And given that this year's original dance program had to be either Charleston, Foxtrot, or Swing, Snape had demanded they learn all three.

The music began—a face-paced song filled with energetic tones of saxophone, trumpet, piano, trombone, and drums. His left hand reached for Hermione's. She took it with a knowing grin. Like him, sweat was pouring from her brow, but somehow she seemed just as energized as ever.

Draco wasn't sure how she did it.

Madam Trelawney began their count off. "Five, six, seven, eight!"

Draco moved his feet in the complicated pattern he had been practicing, his hands grabbing Hermione's hands or waist, twisting her this way and that. As he swung them both around, careful to remain confident as the lead, he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face.

It was almost impossible not to smile doing this dance with Hermione. Her joy—it was infectious. This was something he had come to love about working with her. He got grumpy and beaten down easily, but not Hermione. She was always ready for more, always ready to try something new, always ready to go the extra mile just to succeed. And she always did it with a smile.

Looking at her now as they moved around the dance floor to the beat of the music, her joy filled every inch of his sweaty body. It pushed him to turn her with more of a snap.

Though the routine was only two and a half minutes long, by the time they landed in their final pose—him on one knee and her dipped very close to the floor in his arms—both of their chests were heaving, their faces blooming red. A droplet of sweat dripped from the end of Draco's nose onto Hermione's cheek.

"Urgh, sorry," he panted, wiping the stray drop away once he had set her down.

She brushed it off. "Don't worry. We're bound to sweat on each other for years to come."

When they had first started training together, this thought might have bothered him. He had been so reluctant to share the spotlight with anyone, let alone a prissy ballerina. But two years of practicing and competing had brought them a lot closer. She was just like a sister now. Closer, even. Not that he knew what it felt like to have a sister.

As their breathing slowly returned to normal, Draco became vaguely aware that Madam Trelawney was actually _clapping_.

"Ah, well done, children! Well done! You have improved so much." The woman walked over to them, her beads jingling as always. "Now, don't let this go to your head too much, but I've never had students so young pick up something as complex as the Lindy Hop as quickly as you."

One glance at Hermione and Draco knew that she was elated to receive such a compliment. She had automatically straightened up, her chin lifting slightly. Draco rolled his eyes. She loved to be praised, to hear how well she was doing. This would definitely be going to her head. It was no wonder that her hair was as big as it was.

The moment they were dismissed, they grabbed their duffel bags and headed down the steps of the dance studio and outside, where Hermione's dad was waiting for them in his car like always. Though he was a dentist, he had scaled back his work to be able to be more involved with Hermione's skating career.

His parents had never truly worked a day in their lives, yet they rarely came to practices, let alone competitions. Draco tried not to dwell on this too much.

"How was practice, you two?" Dr. Granger asked as they slid into the back seat. "Did ole Trelawney make you sweat again?"

Hermione groaned and leaned back into her seat. "You have no idea. I love Lindy Hop, but it's so exhausting."

They both buckled their seatbelts before Dr. Granger pulled away. Like a true champion, he brought them a bag of green grapes to snack on during the drive to drop him off at home.

"Thanks, Dr. Granger," Draco said through a mouthful of fruit as they made their way to Malfoy Manor. "I definitely needed to eat something after that."

He could feel Hermione begin to relax over the first fifteen minutes of their drive. She wasn't quite as sprawled out in her seat, and, like him, sweat had finally stopped pouring from her.

"Got any plans tonight?" she asked, popping a grape in her mouth.

Draco shook his head. "Nah. Not much. Just gonna lift some weights a bit."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"What?" He pressed, picking grapes off the stem.

"We just finished a grueling two hour dance rehearsal and now you want to go work out? You're crazy. I am happily going to go home, sit on my bum, and study."

Draco shook his head. " _You're_ the crazy one, Hermione. Study? It's summer!"

"Well I need to be prepared for this autumn. It's going to be our busiest competition season yet and I don't want to fall behind in my studies."

"That's beside the point."

Hermione scoffed. "Why would you subject yourself to weight lifting after you're already clearly exhausted?"

"Because," Draco said, poking her arm. "Snape said we were gonna start lifts soon. And we don't need a repeat of the elbow incident." He reached over and picked up her elbow, where a neat little scar still sat, pink and smooth.

"Is this elbow incident something I should know about?" Dr. Granger asked from the front seat, his eyes peering at them through the rearview mirror.

Hermione chuckled. "Not really, Dad. We tried to do a lift a couple years ago. Draco dropped me straight away and I got a pretty nasty rugburn."

Dr. Granger sighed, his eyes returning to the road. "Well I, for one, appreciate the weight lifting. Don't you go dropping my daughter, you hear, Draco?"

"Yes, sir." Draco gave a mock salute.

"Good man."

The familiar sound of crunching gravel beneath the car meant they were making the final approach to Malfoy Manor. Draco gathered his duffel bag in his lap and shoved the bag of grapes toward Hermione.

"See you tomorrow?" Hermione posited as the car came to a stop at its usual spot near the front door.

"Like always." He opened the door and slid out. "Bye! Oh, and bye, Dr. Granger! Thanks for the ride."

"You can always count on me, kid."

Draco shut the car door, and after one last final wave, he trekked inside. Dobbs was dusting the portraits in the foyer when he entered past the large front doors. He paused his work and turned to face Draco.

"Ah, Master Draco. Welcome home. Is there anything I can get you, sir?"

Draco shook his head. "That's okay, Dobbs." He began walking toward the marble staircase, but as he took his first step he paused. "And I'll just take my supper in my room. If that's okay. Unless—are my parents here?"

"I'm afraid not, sir. They have an engagement tonight with business partners from The Netherlands."

Draco pursed his lips. "Right. In my room, then. Thanks."

"You're very welcome, sir."

With each step he took toward his room, he felt the mounting disappointment build in his stomach. He hadn't seen his parents in… how long had it been? A week? No, it had to be closer to two at this point. He was used to it, of course, his parents being who they were. There was always a special dinner or gala to attend.

He tried to remind himself of the positives of this arrangement as he pushed his bedroom door open.

First, he was free to do as he pleased at home. He could stay up late. Eat junk food. Play his Xbox. It wouldn't matter, because they weren't there to stop him.

Second, he was free from their lectures. Whenever they were around, it felt like he was suffocating. They constantly breathed down his neck, reminding him of the importance of his own success.

Third—well, he couldn't quite think of a third positive thing at the moment, but he was sure something would come to him.

Draco dropped his duffel bag near his laundry hamper and headed straight for the weights in the far corner of the room. He had asked for a set for his birthday, and made it a point to do at least _something_ with them every day. According to the calendar he hung above the weight stand, today was—he squinted—arm day.

He let out a loud sigh, grateful that today wasn't leg day.

He had to begin lifting Hermione tomorrow, and he was afraid that if he did too many squats or lunges tonight, he'd be unable to even move in the morning.

After stretching for a few minutes—though he was already limber from the dancing he had done all afternoon—he grabbed the ten kilo weights and got to work with some bicep curls.

As he worked out, his thoughts wandered aimlessly for a bit before settling on the main worry in his mind: lifting Hermione.

It wasn't that she was that big or hard to lift. She was rather petite, actually. He was more worried about dropping her. He'd spent a lot of time recently watching old video tapes of ice dancing programs, and the things these partners did… balancing on only one leg or just the man's back… it made nerves bubble up inside Draco just to consider.

What if he wasn't strong enough? What if he slipped? Or she slipped? He'd heard of career-ending injuries happening from drops like that.

That's why he was determined to get as strong as possible.

He switched to a tricep press.

He was just glad that he knew Hermione as well as he did. After two years of skating together, he trusted her, and he knew that she trusted him. Snape was always telling them that was the most important part of their skating relationship. If they didn't have trust they didn't have anything.

Draco wanted to keep that trust. And that meant not dropping Hermione at any cost.

When he finally finished all his reps, he was sweaty and puffing again. This time, he finally allowed himself the blissful relief of a shower.

It was funny, he thought as the water pelted at his skin. Even though his parents were away and he could probably get away with almost anything, the fact of the matter was, he was nothing if not disciplined. Tonight, like most nights, would include dinner and an hour of telly, stretching, and a well-deserved seven hours of sleep.

That, and worrying about what tomorrow's skating practice would bring.

Dr. Granger's car pulled into the driveway at half past four the next morning, as usual. Draco was greeted with two identical yawns as he opened the door to the back seat and slid in.

"Morning," he said, catching a yawn himself.

Hermione scrunched her face and held out a paper cup and brown bag. "Tea and a bagel. Eat up."

He nodded wordlessly and dug into the bag. Sesame with cream cheese. His favorite. "Thanks."

Dr. Granger started out of the driveway. He looked back through the rearview mirror. "So… you both were telling me yesterday that today's the big day for lifts? Isn't that right, Bug?"

" _Daaad."_

"Sorry. Isn't that right, _Hermione_?"

Mouth full of bagel, Draco tilted his head at his partner. He swallowed, his voice still thick with cream cheese. "Your dad always calls you Bug. Doesn't make any difference to me."

"Yeah," Dr. Granger piped up. "Listen to Draco! It doesn't make any difference to him."

Even in the dark, early morning hours, Draco could see Hermione roll her eyes. "I'm getting too old for that nickname, Dad."

"Thirteen is not too old! Why, it seems like just yesterday you were just a little sprog running around the house with your cute little baby bum—"

" _Thank you_ , Dad."

Draco chuckled into his tea.

He had heard banter like this nearly constantly between Hermione and her dad for the past two years. Their relationship was much closer than he had ever seen between a parent and child. All his classmates at school came from families like his own; most had practically been raised by nannies. So watching these two was something else. It was a view into a world entirely unknown to him, and he really liked it.

He used to feel odd pangs whenever Hermione and her dad showed affection, but those had long since disappeared, replaced by warmth. Dr. Granger was, in all fairness, more like a dad to him than his own father at this point. They certainly saw more of each other.

The rest of the drive to the rink was uneventful with only bits of chatter here or there. As they turned on the street just outside of their destination, Draco noticed that Hermione's leg was bouncing. Eyes traveling up, he saw her forehead was leaning against the window and she was biting her lip.

He reached forward and placed a hand on her knee. The bouncing stopped.

"You okay?" he whispered, his eyes narrowing.

She nodded. "Yeah. Just a little nervous I guess."

"About the lifts?"

Another nod.

"Are you nervous I'm going to drop you?"

She scrunched her face. "I'm not sure. Maybe? It's just… it's something totally new. What if I'm bad at it?"

Draco snorted, an affectionate smile growing on his lips. He patted her knee. "You'll be fine. You've always been good at whatever we've learned. I don't see why this would be any different."

She placed her hand on top of his. Her fingers were cold. He laced his through them. They'd done this countless times before. Holding hands was second nature at this point.

He was so grateful he hadn't picked that sweaty-handed girl to be his partner.

With Hermione it was… nice.

She squeezed his hand. "Thanks."

Twenty minutes later, they were stretched and ready to go in a warm-up room behind the rink. Today, only Snape was here. He was going to be the one to teach them the basics of lifting. Madam Hooch would come later in the week to fine tune their technique.

Snape, as usual, was dressed fully in black. It was his preferred colour. His hair was pulled out of his face in a ponytail at the base of his neck. He had been a fairly decorated skater on the international stage at one point; he and his dance partner had won bronze in ice dancing at the Olympics some fifteen years ago or so. With such a large amount of experience, he was one of the best coaches out there.

Snape was tough, sometimes too tough, especially in Hermione's opinion. The man had made her cry on more than one occasion. He never apologized either. But he was the best, and they needed the best.

"Right," Snape said as he and Hermione walked to the center of the warm-up room. "Today we're going to start with an exercise that will help you both work on the skills necessary for any successful lift." He motioned to Draco. "For the lifting partner, you need to stand in a slight squat, knees slightly bent and apart, toes forward, back straight. Keep your arms out."

Draco did as he was told, getting into position right away.

"That looks good, Draco."

He relaxed as Snape turned to his partner.

"Hermione, it's your turn now." He motioned for Hermione to come forward. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he steered her until she was facing Draco directly. "Take a good look. The position Draco is in will test his strength and balance. When the two of you execute a lift, he needs to be able to support you, solid and strong, no matter what."

Hermione nodded along.

"Your job as the one being lifted is to be agile and flexible and hold your own. You need to be strong, yes, but you will be the one with more movement. Lifting is as much an exercise in skill as it is in trust."

Draco felt himself nodding along this time as well.

"Right, so what do you want me to do, sir?" Hermione looked between their coach and him.

"You are going to climb Draco."

Draco imagined the expression on his face looked somewhat like Hermione's: dumbstruck, with raised eyebrows and wide eyes.

"Uh, climb him, sir?"

Snape confirmed. "Yes. You'll latch onto him without touching the ground. Then, you will have to move your body around him entirely. Once you are face to face again, you will have completed the exercise."

Hermione began looking in his direction, watching him as though he were some sort of puzzle. Her eyes traveled all along his body, and Draco felt heat radiate from his ears under her gaze.

"Right. Okay. Well—" She stepped toward Draco until she was only a couple inches away. "Here I go."

Draco had touched Hermione plenty before now. He had held her waist. Held her hand. Held her shoulder.

But this? Now? He wasn't going to be holding onto anything. She was going to be holding onto him for dear life instead. Hermione studied him for a moment, as though trying to figure out the best way to approach the exercise.

"Ready?"

Draco assumed the squatting position again. "Go for it."

She closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck and hopping right onto his body, her legs latching behind him.

This was…

Different.

The first thing Draco became aware of was the feel of her chest pressed against his. They were no longer kids and she had, well, _a chest_.

As if that wasn't enough to paralyze him, the second thing he noticed was her lower half. She was pressed dangerously close to a part of his body that he hadn't exactly mastered control of yet. Draco prayed to some sort of deity that his body didn't pick this moment to lose control.

"I'm going to move now, okay?" Her face was so close to his. He could see each freckle on her nose.

He grunted his answer.

She began to work her way around him clockwise, first with her head and arms, then with her legs. As she moved, he was acutely aware of the way her body moved and rolled against his. Draco could feel her breath on his neck, could feel the way her fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt as she grasped for purchase. She groaned a bit as she exerted the effort to keep herself from falling.

Draco was just grateful that his only job was to not move. He could do that. In fact, he was afraid that if he _did_ move, he'd do something stupid, like grab her back.

Which would be very, very stupid.

He shook himself mentally. _Focus, Draco. This is training._

He tried to concentrate on his breathing and not the sensations of Hermione adjusting her lower half just inches away from his pelvis. If she took much more time on this exercise—

Hermione ducked her head under his left arm, the rest of her body following suit. She was back, face to face with him. Before she dropped back on her feet, she shot him an excited grin. He only hoped that the expression he returned was more than a grimace.

"Right, well done you two. Again."

Draco's eyes went wide as a shiver went straight down his spine. He wasn't sure if he could do this again…

Hermione seemed ready though. She rolled her shoulders a couple times before approaching him again.

He nodded, squaring himself.

This would be fine. All he had to do was think of something else. Anything else.

Maths. Or ballet routines. Yes, those were detailed enough. He could get lost in thought for a minute or so thinking of that.

_Balancé right, balancé left, tombé pas de bourre. Piqué sous sus, plié , tour en l'air._

He felt it just before she let out a small cry of, "Oh."

Shortly after jumping onto him, her grip had somehow slipped. Hermione scrambled, her body writhing over his to grab onto some part of him. Before her feet could touch the ground, Draco reacted on instinct, his arms wrapping around her.

He was about to express some sort of relief before he realized exactly where his hands had landed.

They weren't on her waist or even her legs, like he might have expected.

No, he wasn't that lucky.

They had landed squarely on her bum.

The realization was both mortifying and arousing and then mortifying all over again. As quickly as he caught her, he released her again. She landed nimbly on her feet, and he could feel the panic radiating off of her as soon as she did.

"Oh my gosh, Draco! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to lose my grip like that. It just—and I—Draco?"

She furrowed her brows as she looked at him. The second she was out of his grasp, Draco stood stock still, taking deep, calming breaths, praying even harder than before that Hermione did not, under any circumstances, look down.

Luck was on his side this time, it seemed. She kept her concerned eyes trained on his face, words spilling from her. "Are you okay? I'm _so, so_ sorry. Really, I am." Not once did she even look below his waist, where a very unfortunate _problem_ was _growing_.

Unfortunately— _or fortunately? Looking back, Draco wasn't sure_ —Snape did notice. Draco could tell by the way he arched one eyebrow and sighed deeply.

Snape cleared his throat. "Let's take a short bathroom break, you two. Shake it off. Try it again in a few minutes."

He could have kissed his coach. Without a word, Draco made a mad dash for the nearest bathroom. The distance seemed to take an eternity. Throwing himself into the men's room, he made a bee-line for the sink, flicking the cold water on and splashing his face as forcefully as he could.

" _Shit,"_ he whispered, looking at his panicked face in the mirror. How much had Hermione felt? And he had gone and touched her arse—bum. Ugh. Hermione didn't have an arse. Did she?

Dr. Granger's words from this morning floated through his mind. " _It seemed like just yesterday you were just a little sprog running around the house with your cute little baby bum—"_

Draco wanted to scream and tear his hair out. He had just gone and felt up his best friend. It was his first time feeling up a girl to any extent, and it had been with a girl who was like his sister.

And then he had to go and get a bloody erection.

Draco's eyes fell to the problem in his trousers. The cold water hadn't helped at all.

_Shit._

An unfamiliar voice spoke in the back of his mind. _Guess she's not quite like a sister, is she?_

_Double shit._

Draco groaned and resigned himself to the only course of action that would hopefully prevent this from happening for the rest of practice. Crossing the bathroom in three strides, he entered a stall and shut the door.

Five minutes later, Draco reappeared in the warm-up room, hands thoroughly washed and a new layer of focus in his mind. Hermione and Snape were clearly waiting for him, the two of them conversing at the front of the room.

"You're back!" Hermione greeted him with a nervous smile. "Everything okay?"

He gave a firm nod. "Yep. I'm ready to go."

It was odd, he thought as they took their positions, that Hermione seemed so unaffected by the way he had grabbed her. Had she even noticed? Or had she been too preoccupied with trying not to fall that _where_ his hands had landed had gone unseen?

Draco pushed the thoughts from his mind.

This time, he was prepared. When Hermione hopped onto him and clung to his torso, he stood like a brick wall, immovable and balanced. They ran through the exercise two more times before Snape finally let them practice a simple lift.

It was straightforward enough. Draco lunged forward on one foot, his arms wrapped around Hermione's hips. She angled her legs and bent her torso backward in a graceful curve. He was rewarded with a view straight up her chest, past her collar bones, to the underside of her chin. Thankfully, he was focused enough on staying stable for her that he was able to keep his mind from wandering.

When they had mastered the lift on mats, Snape finally allowed them to put on their skates and head for the ice. From the moment his blades touched the ice, he felt his muscles relax. He was truly at ease for the first time that morning. Sunlight streamed through the high windows over the rink as he and Hermione skated their warm-up lap hand-in-hand.

Draco was filled at once with a sense of _rightness._

Lifts on the ice weren't as daunting as he imagined them to be. For him, skating was like breathing. It was his natural way of being. Lifting Hermione in street shoes had been a little awkward, even if they had properly accomplished the task. When Hermione jumped into his arms on the ice, it was like _magic_. They weren't just skating together—they were skating _as one_. Her body was connected to his. He could feel her energy next to his as he skated half a lap, Hermione remaining in her backwards leaning pose. And sure, there was pressure on his stomach where her knees were pressing into him, but he could overlook that.

When he finished his half-lap, he let Hermione down gently until he saw that her blades touched the ice again. Hermione's face was flushed, her grin stretching ear to ear. Their torsos were so close once again, and Draco could have sworn he felt a little flutter somewhere in his chest. Before he had a chance to do or say anything, Snape called for them on the other side of the ice.

They ran the lift by itself a few more times before trying to add it into a sequence of other moves. This proved more difficult, and by the time practice ended at nine o'clock, Draco wanted nothing more than to fall over and not get up for at least a few hours. His legs burned from carrying Hermione's weight for so long, and he was once again grateful that yesterday had been arm day.

Snape debriefed them as always at the end of their practice before dismissing them. But just as Draco went to grab his duffel bag, he heard his name.

"I'd like to talk to you for a moment, Draco," he whispered. "Come take a seat."

As they made their way to the metal bleachers, Draco got a twisting feeling in his stomach that he knew exactly what this talk was going to be about.

"I am aware of what happened to you earlier in our practice," Snape began, looking decidedly out at the rink and not at him. "This is all very new to you. And at your age, I can understand how having to touch a partner in such an intimate way—"

Draco cringed.

"—can have an effect on you. But you must remember, Draco. She is your professional partner. She's counting on you to remain serious and focused and to not let yourself get flustered whenever you have to put your hands on her, because you _will_ put your hands on her."

Draco felt a flush creep up his neck. He wished he could drown himself. Snape seemed to sense his discomfort, because he placed a hand on his shoulder. "Touching her is not just for show, Draco, but for safety as well. It's your job to keep her safe no matter what. And if that means catching her at an odd angle, then so be it. I was very proud of you when you caught her earlier."

He opened and shut his mouth a few times. "You mean, when I accidentally grabbed her, her—"

"You mean when you caught her? Yes. I had a word with Hermione while you were, er, in the loo."

Draco's flush returned tenfold.

"She was a bit flustered, but when I explained to her the necessity of such physical contact at times, she was very accepting."

Yes, he was sure of it. He wanted to dig a hole for himself and then climb in. Not only was he faced with the prospect of a car ride home with Hermione—they'd have to do this all over again tomorrow. And the day after that. Weeks and months and years of touching each other.

Draco wasn't sure he'd survive.

"As to your little problem—" Snape cleared his throat. "I would recommend finding a way that works for you so that it happens as little as possible."

If he never had to talk to Snape about _this_ ever again, it would be too soon

Draco mumbled, "Yes sir," before Snape dismissed him for the day.

"What did he want?" Hermione asked as he jogged over to her by the double glass doors. He could already see Dr. Granger's car sitting out front.

Draco shrugged. "Just to talk to me about safety and, um, stuff."

Miraculously, Hermione seemed to understand what he was talking about, because she nodded, a pink blush flowering on her cheeks.

They left the rink, emerging into the breezy summer air and heading straight to the car.

"How was practice?" Dr. Granger asked after they had buckled themselves in.

Draco turned to glance at Hermione. His eyes met hers, and they both looked away immediately.

"It was— _new_ ," said Hermione cryptically.

"New, huh? Draco?"

He nodded. "Yeah. New."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How badly were you cringing? I cringed so much when I wrote it. But hey, our bbs are growing up.
> 
> If you want to see the exercise that Draco and Hermione did, it's a real Ice Dancing exercise! You can watch by going to this link! 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eKNp-ddPGMw
> 
> The exercise starts at 2:06.
> 
> See you all next week!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco enter the national stage for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was worried a lot of you would be cringed-out after last week, but most of you were just highly amused instead! 
> 
> Well, time marches on in his fic! This chapter takes place a few months after chapter 7. 
> 
> As a side note, you will notice other familiar names in this chapter, but they are not the same age as Draco and Hermione. 
> 
> Thanks as always to Graceful Lioness!

**Fall 2003**

"You ready?" Draco whispered in her ear. Hermione could hardly hear his voice over the roar of the crowd as the second-place pair was called.

She turned and grinned at him. "Is my make-up smudged yet?"

He shook his head. "Nah. Looking picture perfect."

Hermione squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "Then yes. I am."

When their names were called over the loudspeaker, she gave his hand a squeeze. Hermione couldn't help the giddy twirlings in her stomach as they raised their connected arms, stepping in unison onto the very first podium that could lead them to the Junior Grand Prix competition.

The head judge for All-England Junior Skate approached the podium, gold medals in hand. He was an older gentleman with a protruding nose and an air of sophistication, and when he approached them, offered them a tight-lipped smile and a brief, "Congratulations."

This wasn't their first win of the season, but it was the first big competition. Every competition they had attended up until this point had been local or regional. This year, though, with the Junior Grand Prix in their sights, they had graduated to a larger stage. Placing on the podium today meant that they would advance to the Junior British Figure Skating Championships.

Hermione focused on this exciting prospect as she bowed her head to accept the medal around her neck. She remained bowed as the judge did the same for Draco, but turned her head slightly to watch the giddy grin on Draco's face.

He had been anticipating this kind of moment more than anyone she knew. She was, of course, the only one who knew about the homemade gold medal he kept in his dresser drawer. The thought of advancing to larger competitions was thrilling. And it wasn't just because she loved to win. Though that part was nice.

More than that, she loved to skate with Draco.

He knew her better than practically anyone, except maybe her parents. After two and a half years together, he knew how to make her laugh with his dramatic antics; he knew how to cheer her up when the pressure of skating built up. Holding his hand and putting her trust in him wasn't like anything she had ever experienced. And when they were together on the ice, it was almost as though they were flying together. Especially when he lifted her.

They had gotten much better at those since they started in the summer. Draco had dropped her a couple times on practice mats, it was true. But he had never once dropped her on the ice. Their lifts were simple, but Snape and Madam Hooch worked them to the bone to make sure they were perfect.

Hermione made a mental note to thank them as soon as they got off ice.

As soon as the award ceremony was over, Draco hopped down from the podium. From his lower position on the ice, he offered a hand up to her. She accepted, and her descent was far more graceful because of it. The second she touched down, Draco's arms were around her, squeezing the life out of her.

"We did it!" He cheered into her ear, his whole body bouncing. "I can't believe we're going to the championships!"

Draco pulled back, holding her at arm's length. The joy radiating off of him was completely contagious, and Hermione found she couldn't stop smiling right along with him.

"And guess what?"

Hermione leaned closer, one eyebrow twitching as Draco asked, "What?"

"We'll be the youngest competitors."

Draco blanched. "How do you know—?"

"I couldn't sleep last night so I looked it up." The concern in Draco's eyes didn't escape her, and her heart warmed. She pressed on. "Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland all had their championships in the last couple weeks. We were last. And the next youngest competitors are fifteen."

Draco's eyes went wide. "Fifteen?"

Hermione nodded her head in the direction of the silver and bronze medalists. "Yeah, well look at them. They're all older than us, too. And we beat them."

Draco followed her line of sight. She watched comprehension dawn on his face, immediately followed by the most pompous expression she had seen on his face to date. He puffed out his chest and began to skate circles around her out of pure delight.

Hermione couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up inside of her.

Medals still around their necks, they posed for a handful of photographers before leaving the ice. Draco, ever the dramatic one, insisted they do one ridiculous pose in addition to the smiling one that had been requested. In the end, Hermione ended up flashing her gold medal at the camera while doing a vertical split with her ankle resting on Draco's shoulder. He just rolled his eyes.

The photographer thanked them for hamming it up a bit before moving on to the silver medalists.

By the time they made it off the ice, their whole support team was waiting for them. Snape and Madam Hooch were there, of course. A hard-earned smile sat on Snape's face. Her parents were just behind them, wide grins on their faces. They waved exuberantly as she and Draco approached. Draco's parents hadn't been able to attend, though she was used to it at this point. Mum and Dad had basically adopted Draco as their second son at this point.

"Oh, darlings! You did so wonderfully, I could cry!" Mum threw her arms wide and wrapped them around her and Draco's shoulders right after they slipped the covers over their blades. "Gold! I can't believe it."

"Not just gold," Dad piped up, "but the gold medal for all of England."

Hermione felt a slight flush grow on her cheeks as Mum squished her and Draco in her arms. A glance at Draco almost made Hermione burst out laughing. His face was pressed right into Mum's shoulder, and he almost looked like a chipmunk this way. His eyes were asking for help.

Thankfully, Snape came to their rescue.

"Right, right. Come on everyone. Let's not let this win go to their heads. We can be proud of them without inflating their egos." His drawling voice carried over the excitement. Snape's eyes fell on the two of them, now released from Mum's grasp. He raised an eyebrow as he enunciated each syllable. "They still have _a lot_ of work to do before they're ready for competition on a fully national scale."

Hermione felt a shiver run through her at these words. The thought of pushing even harder in the next three weeks set her nerves skyrocketing. They were already at the rink four hours a day, in dance lessons for two hours every other day, and in the gym for an hour three days a week. And on top of all that, they still had school. What else could they do?

Almost as if he could read her mind, Draco reached out and grabbed her hand. He didn't even look in her direction. He just… knew. The feeling of his fingers lacing through hers was so familiar at this point; he kept her grounded.

Around them, the adults carried on their conversation. She and Draco just stood there, holding hands.

It was nice.

She really did like holding hands with Draco. She also especially liked it when he hugged her. He'd taken to doing this recently after their performances finished. They'd strike their final pose at the end of their Viennese Waltz or their Boogie Woogie performance, chests heaving, adrenaline racing, and the moment they dropped the pose, his arms were around her. Hermione had been a bit awkward about it at first. Draco had never really been affectionate with her off the ice. Sure, they joked around and he was good to talk to, but hugs were new this year.

Not that she minded. After a couple surprise hugs, she picked up on it, and hugged him back. Each time his arms wrapped around her shoulders, she felt a fluttering in her stomach, but only for a moment.

Hermione had gotten quite good at pushing any sort of Draco-related flutters away. She wasn't supposed to be feeling those flutters, after all.

Mr. Malfoy would never permit such a thing.

Though he wasn't around often, his presence always seemed to linger, leaning just over her shoulder to keep a watchful eye. Ever since he pulled her aside to call her unexceptional and easily replaceable nearly two years ago, she hadn't quite been able to get Mr. Malfoy's voice out of her head.

 _You're not good enough_ , she heard when she slipped on the ice.

 _You don't deserve Draco_ , she heard when the two of them practiced lifts.

 _Watch yourself, Miss Granger,_ she heard whenever Draco's arms enveloped her in a hug.

It always left her raw and unnerved, and try as she might to shake that voice, it followed her into practices and into competitions. Even today, as she and Draco sat in the Kiss and Cry booth after their original dance to Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy, scoring the highest they had yet this season, his voice whispered poison in her ear.

It wasn't until much later that night, lying in bed with her gold medal beside her on the pillow, that she finally thought of one thing Mr. Malfoy couldn't refute: she and Draco had won. They were the best junior ice dancers in England. Not even former Olympic Gold Medalist Lucius Malfoy could possibly have anything bad to say about that.

Could he?

Hours upon hours of grueling practice were added to their routine each week. Not only did they skate before school, they skated after school as well. Snape completely changed one of the lifts from their Viennese Waltz, set to the Fairy Dance. Instead of only lifting her straight up, now Draco had to catch her horizontally after she flipped herself into his arms. It completely changed their approach to the lift, but it did make her look more like she was flying.

For most of the month of November, school unfortunately went on the back burner. Hermione felt beyond grateful that she had studied ahead in the summer, even though Draco had teased her mercilessly for weeks. It brought her a bit of glee to know that he often asked if she could look over his maths homework during their breaks.

The biggest change, though, came not in their level or intensity of work, but in their public exposure. Until this moment, skating had been a relatively private thing for them. The competitions they attended had audiences largely consisting of parents enthusiastically cheering on their own child.

Their current situation all started when their picture had been one of a handful published in the sports section of The Guardian alongside an article entitled _Skating to Victory_. To both her and Draco's great amusement, the newspaper had selected their silly pose rather than the regular one, and the journalist had captioned it " _Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, both 13, danced their way to gold, and into our hearts."_

Dad had promptly run to the nearest Tesco and picked up about twenty copies. Hermione had carefully and lovingly cut out the article and tacked it up on her wall next to her vision board.

Walking into school the next day was like stepping into some strange alternate universe. Normally she was just known around school as a geek or a quiet bookworm. She'd gotten used to it over the years—being generally alone. Having classmates ignore her. But after the article came out, everyone was shoving it in her face, clamoring for her autograph. A lot of girls asked about Draco.

"Is he your boyfriend?"

"Can he pick you up?"

"Do you just… get to snog all the time?"

After only one day of being a local celebrity, she wanted nothing more than to go back to being invisible.

Still, her bad experience at school didn't stop her from wanting to share excitement over it with Draco. When she called him that evening, however, his reaction hadn't been quite what she expected.

"Father got so mad when he saw the article." Draco's voice sounded sad over the receiver.

Hermione leaned back against her headboard, frowning. Mum and Dad had relented and gotten her a phone for her room as a birthday present, and she was so grateful to be able to talk to Draco without the threat of them eavesdropping.

"Why was he mad?" she asked. "Did he not like what the article said?"

"He hated our photo. Said that it was degrading to not take ourselves seriously as professionals. He actually told me never to make that face again. Told me that if we're going to be taken seriously on the world stage, we need to have a sense of decorum."

"Well my dad loved it," Hermione supplied. "Said he would smile every time he saw it. Mum's going to hang it up at the clinic."

She heard Draco groan. "Why can't my parents just relax? I mean, we got _gold_."

Hermione sighed. "They just want us to do well, I think."

"Yeah, well my father can go bugger off."

"Draco!"

She could practically hear him grimace over the phone, so she decided to switch tactics.

"Do you think we'll have our picture in the paper again?" she mused.

"Are you kidding me? We're going to be nationally-competitive skaters. We might even get on television. And I wouldn't be surprised if we have to do formal interviews at the championships."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "Formal interviews?"

"Yeah. Like, we sit at a table with microphones and journalists ask us questions."

"What on earth would they ask us about?" The concept seemed almost laughable to Hermione.

"I dunno," Draco answered. "About our training. About our goals. About our dances. Lots of stuff. My parents have talked to journalists a lot before, and they've never made it look hard."

Even though Hermione nodded along, just the thought of being put on the spot like that made her stomach churn. It might have been different if Mr. Malfoy hadn't hated their first ever picture in the paper, but now… what if she said the wrong thing? Made a bad impression? Would the Malfoys let her continue skating with Draco, or would they drop her and find him a new partner?

"Hey, Draco," she said into the phone, voice shaking. "Can I ask you a favour?"

There was a brief pause before he answered.

"Yeah. Sure. What is it?"

"Can you take the lead in our interviews? It's just…" How could she tell Draco the reason why she didn't want to talk? Clearly, she couldn't bring up his father. That might make things awkward. So she decided to wrack her brain for an excuse. "I just get nervous talking in front of people is all."

This, of course, was a lie. Hermione frequently received full marks on speeches and debate projects at school. She had even won a local speech contest when she was seven years-old. But Draco didn't need to know that.

"Yeah, that's fine. I'm okay doing most of the talking."

"Thanks." Heart beating a little easier, Hermione continued to listen as Draco launched into a monologue about some of the competitors they'd be seeing in Sheffield at the championships. It seemed that he had lots of ideas of things they should perfect if they wanted to win. She only hoped it would be enough to keep her in Draco's father's good graces.

The morning of the first day of the British Figure Skating Championships, Hermione woke before anyone else in the hotel room she shared with her parents. It was still dark outside, but that was no matter. She had been waking up at close to four in the morning for years now, so this was second nature.

Silently padding past Mum and Dad, who were sleeping in the other Queen-sized bed, she headed to the bathroom to shower. They needed to leave for the venue by seven o'clock, and she needed to be ready with full hair and makeup. She'd use any extra time to stretch.

She was already in her black jacket—the one with her name and home rink emblazoned on the back—and black skating pants by the time Mum and Dad rolled out of bed.

"I don't know how you do it," Dad muttered through sleep-dusted eyes as he hobbled to the bathroom.

By the time six o'clock rolled around, Hermione was halfway through her warm-up stretches. A knock at the door made her break away from the splits she was doing between the two beds. Draco was waiting for her on the other side, hair already slicked back and a paper plate filled with breakfast foods sat in his hands.

"Can I come in?" he asked with a grin. "I brought food."

Hermione made a face at the plate. "I'm too nervous to eat, but sure. Come on in."

Mum and Dad, who were reading in bed, greeted Draco with a familiar, "Hullo" as he stepped into the hotel room.

"Hi, Dr. and Dr. Granger. Awake yet?"

"We'll get there eventually, son." Dad rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. "Thanks for bringing breakfast for Hermione. You know how she gets on competition days."

Draco nodded solemnly. He set the plate down on the television stand, and Hermione eyed it with disdain. It was true. On competition days she was usually so nervous that her stomach acted up. Most of the time she just couldn't eat much. Occasionally she actually vomited. She had a hunch that today would be a vomity kind of day.

"Have you stretched yet?" she asked. It was a feeble attempt at distraction.

Draco looked between her and the plate. He knew _exactly_ what she was up to, but thankfully, he played along.

"Only a bit. Wanna do them together?"

Hermione nodded and they got to work. Using the empty stretch of carpet in the room, she and Draco helped each other loosen their muscles up, pulling on each other's arms and legs until they both felt limber and ready to go. When the clock struck seven, everyone was laden with duffel bags, backpacks, and in Dad's case, a massive camera.

"You know they have professional photographers," Hermione moaned as they piled into the car in the parking lot. "You don't have to lug that thing to every competition."

"I know, Bug, but I like to remember your competitions from my point of view. Plus, I know which side is your good one." He turned and winked at Hermione before starting the car.

"Are your parents going to meet us at the rink, then?" Mum asked Draco as they made their way to IceSheffield. Immediately, Hermione felt her partner tense beside her. She offered a hand, and he squeezed it. More often than not, his parents' participation was a sore subject.

"Oh you know," Draco drawled, turning to look out the window. "This hotel wasn't good enough for them, so they're staying somewhere with, and I quote, _more of an atmosphere_. But they'll be there."

"You know you're always welcome to stay with us," Dad offered. "I know you like to spend your mornings getting ready with Hermione."

"I appreciate it."

The closer they got to the rink, the higher bile seemed to rise in Hermione's stomach. She had managed to eat half an orange and a few bites of cereal before waving the rest of the plate away. And now she was beginning to regret even that.

"So I was looking at the itinerary," said Draco when they were five minutes out. "We have a press briefing this morning at nine and then our first skate will be at about eleven forty-five. We'll break for about four hours. Our second skate will be at four-thirty."

Hermione listened numbly as her whole midsection churned. She only prayed they arrived soon.

"You okay, Hermione?" Mum turned around. "You're looking a little green."

"Gonna be sick I think," she mumbled. "Nerves."

"Hang on, Bug. We'll be there and parked in two minutes. I have your badges up front, so we'll head into the special entry. You just run in the second we're there. Got it?"

Hermione nodded. She hated this part of herself. Why couldn't she be like Draco, cool and collected through everything?

True to Dad's word, the car came to a halt in a space behind the rink within two minutes. Hermione immediately threw the car door open and bolted to the nearest rubbish bin, barely making it.

When she had finished, she became vaguely aware of a hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles.

"Maybe I shouldn't have gotten you that plate."

_Draco._

She vomited again.

When she was sure her stomach was empty and her heart had returned to its usual pace, Hermione lifted her head and exhaled.

"Better?" Draco offered, holding out a bottle of water he had clearly grabbed from his duffel.

"Much, thanks."

She sipped at the water until Mum and Dad made their way over with all the bags.

"Are you okay, Hermione? Still feel like you can skate?" Mum asked as they began to walk inside.

"Yeah. I feel good now. Still nervous, but it's manageable."

Dad made his way over to Draco and clapped him on the back. "Thanks for taking care of our girl as always. How'd we get so lucky that she has such a good lad for a partner?"

Hermione watched as Draco's ears turned pink. "It's n-nothing." He took a second to straighten his face before saying more. "I need her in tip-top shape today, and we can't very well have her throw up at the press conference or worse, on the ice."

The backstage area of the rink was packed with skaters of all ages. They, of course, were the youngest. Hermione was practically trembling by the time they reached their designated, curtained-off warm-up area. She tried not to stare at some of the skaters as they walked past her. There were so many names and faces she recognized but had never met. Famous, talented skaters. Skaters who had been to the Olympics.

None of them, of course, had won a medal before. The last British medal for figure skating at the Olympics was in 1994, nearly ten years ago. Hermione imagined that every single person in the venue today was vying for a spot on that podium one day.

The second they set their bags down, she and Draco rounded on each other.

"Did you see—?"

"I know! And did _you_ see—?"

" _Them?_ I wanted to scream!"

They had never been starstruck at a competition before. Seeing those famous people… those talented skaters… it somehow made the nerves in her stomach ease a bit. If they could get out there and skate, then maybe she could as well. But still, she was a bit surprised by Draco's excited reaction. Hadn't he grown up around people like this?

Mum ran off to grab a schedule while Dad simply stood there and rolled his eyes at their freakout.

They did more warm-ups, and by the time Snape showed up in their zone, they were ready for a run-through.

"Press conference in ten minutes," the dark-haired man said curtly. "How are the two of you feeling this morning?"

"I'm fine," Draco piped up. "But Hermione already threw up in a rubbish bin outside."

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him and mouthed, " _Tattle tale."_

Snape rounded on her. "Is this true, Hermione?"

She nodded, shuffling her feet. "I was just nervous. You know how I get. I'm not actually sick."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure? Because I refuse to have you compete if you're not in top form."

Hermione brought herself up to her full height. "I swear, I'm just fine now. I'm ready to go."

"Very well. Come on, you two. Let's get you to the press room so you can get seated."

Snape led them down the crowded hallway once again, ignoring the signs pointing to the rink, and instead leading them toward a large, bland room. Mum and Dad hadn't followed them. They had been given instructions to take their seats up in the main arena. Hermione and Draco sat down at a small table. Each place at the table had a microphone placed in front of it. Several other similar tables were set up all around the room. Already, a handful of skaters were at the tables, some singles, others in pairs. A couple rows of chairs sat in front of each table.

Once they were situated, Snape kneeled in front of them, speaking in a hushed tone. "The reporters have you for ten minutes. They'll be coming over in just a minute. Answer the questions the best you can. Don't be vulgar or rude, and take yourselves seriously. You are the youngest competitors here today, but you are coming in with high expectations, so expect questions about that."

They both nodded. A handful of journalists began to take a seat and Snape moved out of the way.

Under the table, Draco squeezed her hand.

The press conference began with the sorts of questions that Draco had predicted. One woman asked them about their training regimen. Another asked about their aspirations. A man in the front row inquired about the routines they would be performing today. Draco answered every question with ease. It was as though he was born to be in front of cameras. Every answer fell from his lips with grace. Not once did he stumble on his words or take too long to consider his answers.

Hopefully Mr. Malfoy liked what he had to say.

"And, Miss Granger—" Hermione jolted at being directly addressed. "We haven't heard much from you today. Can you tell us how you feel to be the youngest competitors today at only thirteen years old?"

_Watch yourself, Miss Granger._

Hermione swallowed, her eyes traveling between the microphone and the small crowd of reporters in front of her.

Draco squeezed her knee.

Suddenly, she felt less afraid.

It had to have been magic. Had he given her some of his smoothness?

She widened her smile and leaned toward the microphone.

"It's such an honour to be competing against such experienced skaters," Hermione began. "I will admit that Draco and I freaked out a bit when we saw some Olympians backstage." She glanced at Draco and offered him a smile. He returned it with another squeeze to her knee. "But to us, age isn't as important. We've been skating together for over two years, and we trust each other completely. We trust our coaches and our skills. Hopefully we can show you something special today."

Hermione watched the reporters scribbling her words on their notepads.

"I think—" one of the reporters in the front spoke up. "—that should do it. Thank you for your time, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger. Good luck today."

They both thanked the reporters and hopped down from the elevated table.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Draco whispered in her ear as they made their way back to the warm-up area. "Your answer was really good, by the way."

Hermione grinned at the praise. "Thanks. You're such a natural in front of reporters and cameras, though. I'm glad you did most of the talking."

Their run-through went smoothly, and before long, they were fully dressed in their first costumes with their skates in hand. Hermione supposed the original dance costumes were comfortable enough: vintage military khaki with matching hats. It was different than the usual floaty dresses she wore, but she would wear one of those for their free dance.

As their performance ticked closer, they lined up just backstage with the other eleven pairs in their category. There was a solemn air at this competition that she hadn't felt before. Before, competitions had been serious, yes, but there had also been an element of fun to the whole thing. No one in this line was smiling.

"Right, you lot," a tall woman called from the front of their line. "You'll have five minutes to do final warm-ups on the ice. Then you'll come back here and wait until I call your name. Our first pair to perform is… Justin Finch-Fletchley and Hannah Abbott."

A sweet looking girl just two spots in front of her in line nodded, though she looked a bit green.

Hermione could relate. She was glad she and Draco weren't going first.

When they first stepped out onto the ice, it was to the sound of tumultuous applause from the crowd. Hermione spotted her parents almost right away. They were waving a homemade sign that read " _Dream Team! Go Draco and Hermione!"_ Hermione pointed them out to Draco, and they both waved as they began their first warm-up loop around the rink.

Couples all around them were practicing lifts and twizzles—synchronized spins. Some seemed confident and relaxed. Others, like Hannah Abbott, had nerves painted across their face.

"How are you feeling?" Draco asked as they took a second loop.

"I'm… good, I think. You?"

"Yeah. I'm good. Want to run the pre-lift sequence?"

Hermione agreed, and they started rehearsing parts of their Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy performance that they sometimes found tricky. Everyone else was rehearsing their swing patterns. For this part of the competition—the original dance—everyone had to perform some sort of swing dance. It wasn't until this afternoon during the free dance that the genres would vary more widely.

After the ten minutes was called, she and Draco skated off the ice hand-in-hand.

"Did you see your parents?" Hermione asked as she slipped the covers over her blades.

Draco nodded, a scowl on his face. "Yeah. My father was on the phone, but my mother was watching like a hawk. They're near your parents, just a few rows down."

"Do you not want them here?"

He shrugged. "Maybe? I just feel a lot more pressure with them watching."

"Well don't pay attention to them," Hermione offered. "Just watch me when we're out there."

"Just you?"

"It'll be just us."

" _Just us."_

These words seemed to bring him some sort of relief. The scowl was completely gone by the time they were making their way back to the pre-show staging area.

A handful of other ice dancers were already there when they arrived. Some were sitting around in chairs, chatting. Others were stretching on the floor. Still others were pacing, headphones jammed over their ears.

She and Draco settled on the floor, content to help each other stretch just a bit more. They weren't performing until the ninth slot. All the bronze medalists from the regional competitions would go first, followed by the silver medalists. As they were the youngest gold medalists, they would begin the third wave of performances.

Just as they had started helping each other to stretch, two shadows passed over them. A bright voice began to speak. "So, you two are the couple everyone's talking about."

Hermione looked up to see two highly freckled people looking down at her and Draco.

The girl stuck out her hand. "I'm Ginny Weasley and this is my brother, Ron. We're the silver medalists from Wales. It's nice to meet you."

Hermione grabbed the offered hand and smiled. "I'm Hermione Granger. This is Draco Malfoy." Draco nodded at Ron, who nodded back.

"Why's everyone talking about us?" Hermione inquired, tucking one foot under her as she continued to stretch.

"Because you got a regional gold at thirteen, that's why. Ron and I—he's sixteen and I'm fifteen—we've been skating together for nearly eight years and we've only gotten a regional gold once."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Only once? But you've been together for so long!"

"Yeah, well that's only because we've been stuck together. Siblings and all. Isn't that right, Ronnekins?"

Ron scowled at his sister. "Shut up, Ginny." He folded his arms and looked down at Hermione. "But yeah, I've got to admit, I'm a bit jealous. Your skating… it's wicked."

Hermione felt a blush creep up her neck. She hadn't had her skills complimented in such a way before.

"Oh, thanks." She smiled up at Ron.

"Yeah, everyone here is pretty nice. Over there in the chairs—" Ginny took over the conversation again. "—that's Cormac McLaggen and Alicia Spinnet. They're the gold medalists from Scotland. Cormac's a bit intense, but otherwise he's nice enough." She pointed to one of the pacers. "That bloke is Cedric Diggory. His partner, Cho Chang, is in the corner meditating. They're the gold medalists from Northern Ireland."

Hermione simply nodded along, but Draco was listening with rapt attention. They both knew, of course, who all these people were. They did their research. As junior skaters, none of them had been to the Olympics yet. Hermione did know, however, that Cedric and Cho were really the couple to beat. They trained in a facility in Canada during their summers, and were known for their risky lifts. This was their last year in juniors—next year they would age up into the senior division.

There was no way they were going to beat those two today, but Hermione supposed that a silver medal would be nice.

Ron and Ginny chatted with them for another minute before they retreated to a corner of the room by themselves.

"They seem nice enough," said Hermione as she helped Draco lean into a stretch.

Draco shrugged. "I guess. I didn't like the way that Weasley bloke was looking at you, though."

Hermoine furrowed her brows. "How was he looking at me?"

"I dunno. Like you were magical or something."

Hermione blinked. Like she was magical? She peered over Draco's shoulder at Ron again. He was doing a stretch against the wall. When he turned his head to switch sides, their eyes met for a brief moment. Hermione looked away as her blush returned with a vengeance.

"Urgh, can you not?" Draco made a face at her. "Don't go fraternizing with the enemy."

Hermione snorted, though her blush remained. "Really? The enemy?"

Draco raised his arms in defense. "Look. All I'm saying is that we might not want to get so chummy with our competition. It'll only make it awkward when we crush them all."

Hermione couldn't help rolling her eyes.

Waiting was the hardest part of all, Hermione discovered. Though her nausea never returned, her body was still a livewire of nerves as pair after pair was called out to the rink. The bronze medalists all went. Then the silver medalists. As the last silver couple—the couple from England—took to the ice, she and Draco stood to make their final preparations.

Draco had taken over one of the chairs, and his knee had been bouncing for the last twenty minutes. Hermione approached him and held out her hand.

"Come on. It'll be time in just a minute."

They made their way down the hallway toward the door where the tall woman would call their name shortly. As they stood alone on the concrete floor, Draco slipped his hand in hers.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

"Just us?"

"Just us."

The door opened, allowing the roar of the crowd to sweep through the silent corridor. The tall woman stuck her head through. "Malfoy and Granger. It's time." She held the door open as they made their way into the arena, to the side area of the rink. The English silver pair had just finished their routine, and were taking their final bows.

Hermione slid the covers off her skates and placed them on a bench. She watched as Draco did his usual pre-skate seven jumps: his good luck ritual. She leaned against the walls of the sidelines, forcing herself to take deep breaths.

It was going to be fine.

This was just another competition.

When it became clear that focusing on her breathing wasn't making her any calmer, she closed her eyes. The nerves had returned in full, and Hermione could feel herself shaking.

But just as her fingertips began to twitch of their own accord, Hermione felt arms wrap around her, pulling her toward something solid.

_Draco._

She leaned her head on his shoulder.

"Breathe," he whispered in her ear. "Breathe with me. Let's do it together."

She listened to air rushing in his nose and out his mouth and followed suit.

In. Out.

In. Out.

Through the ear that was pressed into his shoulder, she could make out the faintest thumping of his heart. It soothed her, listening to its steady rhythm as they just held each other.

It was just like she had promised Draco. It was just them. Everything and everyone else fell away.

As quickly as they had come, her nerves melted away.

With reluctance, Hermione pulled away as the scores were called. Her fingers lingered on the khaki material on his shoulder.

"You ready?" he asked, his grey eyes not leaving hers.

She nodded just as Snape made his way over to them. He offered some last minute advice, but Hermione didn't really hear him. Something about the sharpness of their arm movements.

When the tall woman came over to them, they knew it was time.

Draco slipped his hand into hers as the woman opened the gate to the ice.

As they made their way to the center of the rink, a disembodied female voice read their introduction.

" _Next up, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. Both are thirteen years old and hail from the Lee Valley Ice Centre in London. They received gold in the All-England Junior Skate and will be performing their original dance to Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy."_

A cheer erupted from the crowd, and Hermione swore she could hear her father's distinct baritone voice yell, " _Go get 'em!"_

As the first notes of trumpet filled her ears, Hermione was filled with the same resolve that always came over her whenever she performed with Draco.

Skating with him was natural.

Almost like they were flying together.

The rest of the day flew by, and before Hermione knew it, they had packed up their duffel bags and were heading out to the car for a celebratory dinner. They had no medal to show for their efforts, but they had come just short of one. Fourth place wasn't bad for their first time competing on such a big stage.

Even though they hadn't been on the podium, two judges and a few reporters had made a point to chat with them after the awards ceremony. The judges commended them on their splendid performance, both of them saying something similar to, "We expect great things from you."

It was both thrilling and completely terrifying. But for tonight, Hermione just wanted to focus on the thrilling part. Her parents had offered to treat everyone to dinner, and right now the four of them—Mum, Dad, her, and Draco—were on their way to a family-style Italian restaurant near the hotel. After claiming that they had important business to attend to back in London, Draco's parents left abruptly in their town car.

Hermione could see disappointment in the way Draco slumped in his seat in the back seat of her family car and in the way he trudged through the restaurant to their table.

"I'm sure they'd be here if they could," she whispered to him from behind her menu. "Like they said, they're busy."

Draco shot her a scowl. "That was a lie and you know it. They just couldn't deal with the fact that we didn't get on the podium. That, and this restaurant hasn't ever received a Michelin star."

He shoved his face further behind the menu, obscuring him entirely from Hermione's view.

She sighed and looked across the table to where Dad was watching them with mild interest.

" _Help me,"_ she mouthed at him, her eyes darting to Draco.

Dad gave her a look of recognition and cleared his throat. "You know," he said, setting his menu down on the table. "I'm so proud of the two of you. Fourth place in all of the UK? Now that's something to brag about."

From behind the menu, Hermione heard a groaning noise.

"I know what you're up to, Dr. Granger." Draco's voice was muffled, but clearly annoyed. "You don't have to try to make me feel better."

"Well, I know I don't need to, but—" Dad extended his arm and placed it on Draco's shoulder. "I want to anyway. I'm incredibly proud of you for working so hard and getting all the way here. And you're only thirteen! And if your parents can't see how incredible that makes you—"

"John!" Mum's eyes had gone wide.

"—then that's their loss." Dad finished with a final nod in Draco's direction. "Now, I heard that the veal parmesan in this place is out of this world. I think I'll have that."

Draco's face peeked over the menu, and from what Hermione could see, there was the faintest trace of a smile on his lips.

He remained subdued through most of the meal. Her parents wanted to discuss the day and all the routines they had watched. Hermione's attention waxed and waned throughout the meal. But it wasn't until Dad practically shouted, "Waiter!" that she fully focused again.

Their server came running over, panic on his face.

"The telly above the bar… we need to hear! That's—that's my daughter! That's _them!"_

Hermione whipped around in her chair to face the bar, and what she saw made her jaw drop. There, being broadcast for all of the UK to see, were her and Draco.

After recovering from his shock, the server brought over a little black radio device and placed it on their table. He fiddled with the controls for a moment, and then, much to the whole table's delight, Draco's voice burst from it.

"— _been training together now for over two years, and I think we're very compatible partners. I think that's our strength. Hermione and I—we get along so well. She's like my sister. We can understand each other and have a lot of fun together."_

A man's voice cut in, and a glance at the telly revealed that it was the sports anchor on a major news network. Behind him, a video of their Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy routine from today was playing.

" _They may not have placed today, but that's not to say they didn't go unnoticed. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy made a splash during their national debut today, and based on everything we're seeing, they'll definitely be the ones to watch for a good long while. Back to you, Jim."_

As the news had switched back to the weather, Hermione turned to Draco. Gone were the sullen frown and the sad eyes, and instead, replaced with nothing short of wonder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're on the way to success! Babies are growing up! 
> 
> If you want to follow along with the music from this fic, I've started a Spotify playlist of the songs that they skate along to. So far there are only 4 songs, but I'll update as applicable! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21UNgzUJE0kSX0VDNnJk6V?si=yJor26nESxSIkewzQcnuuw
> 
> See you next week!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco try something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to be blown away by your response to this story. 
> 
> As a reminder, there is a playlist for this story is on Spotify. I'll include it in the end notes. Double check the link if you saved it, because I initially created it on my IRL profile instead of my fandom one and have since corrected this error. (whoops)
> 
> All the love, as always, to Graceful Lioness.

**Spring 2004**

Hermione had to admit that after a few weeks' break from skating, she was a little stiff. The first few early wake-ups had been rough. Dad had practically dragged her from bed this morning. Three hours later, even though her body was standing upright on the ice, she was positive that her mind was on a sideline bench somewhere, half-asleep.

"Did you hear a word that I was saying, Miss Granger?"

Snape's sharp voice cut through the fog, and she inhaled deeply through her nose in hopes of getting enough oxygen to her brain.

"Yes. Sorry. Just tired."

Draco skated over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. His eyes were narrowed with concern. "You okay?"

She nodded, biting her lip. "Yeah. I got used to sleeping in there for a couple months. Give me another week and I'll be back to normal."

Draco squeezed her shoulder, but he didn't let go after. The heat from his palm seeped through her thin, black practice shirt and sent a shiver up her neck. In the last few days, ever since resuming their practices for the new season, Draco's touches had started lingering far more than they used to. Sometimes he touched her shoulder. Other times it was her hand or her knee or—and this was the place that gave Hermione the biggest chill up her spine—her waist.

It was all innocent, she was sure of it. Draco wouldn't be doing those things to purposely rile her up and make her blush… would he? When they first met, she hadn't found the idea of touching each other strange at all. It was just what dancers… skaters did. But she wasn't a little girl any more. She knew that touching could be something very different. And sometimes, if she was honest with herself, the idea of that kind of touching seemed, well… nice. Even though she hadn't ever been kissed or even thought about going on a date, she liked the idea of it. Someone to hold her hand and to kiss...

Sometimes—and she hated to even admit it to herself—she liked to watch movies just for the kissing.

But the idea of the person to do that sort of thing with her being… Draco?

He was her professional partner, nothing more. And the lingering touches, they had to just be signs that they were close. Like that interview they gave at the skating championships said, they were like brother and sister.

And that was that.

"Right, you two." Snape eyed them from just behind the wall at the edge of the rink. "Last season was about assessing whether you two were ready for a larger stage. We learned that you are more than ready."

He said this last bit with a rare glint in his eye. Hermione beamed.

"This year, it's all about pushing you to your limits. We're going to have you practicing harder than ever, trying new kinds of lifts, and working on perfecting your footwork. I'm looking at you on that last one especially, Draco."

Draco drew his head back and threw his hands up as if to say, "Why me?"

"You know as well as I do that Hermione has an extensive background in dance and is far more adept at picking up complex footwork patterns."

Draco turned his head and stuck his tongue out at her. She retorted by doing the same.

" _But—_ " Snape pressed on, raising his voice to get their attention, "—above all else, we need to continue to improve your relationship."

Draco made a face at Snape and slung an arm over Hermione's shoulder, pulling her cheek to cheek. Hermione immediately felt her face heat up. "I have no idea what you're talking about, sir. Hermione and I are incredibly close already."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Yes, well be as that may, you two need to be careful not to lose that relationship. A good ice dancing pair will rely only on their technique. A great ice dancing pair will have both technique and chemistry. And remember that beginning this summer, we're making the big move to Sheffield to begin your intensive, full-time training. You'll be away from your families and will have to rely on each other more than ever. That, more than anything, is why I am giving the two of you a special assignment."

Hermione's thoughts immediately fled to the new rehearsal schedule she had recently committed to memory. Between skating, dance, school, and sleeping, there wasn't much time to spare. What on earth would Snape make them do? Anxiety crept up the back of her throat.

Snape must have seen the worry in her face, because he softened a bit. "Your assignment is very simple. All I want you to do is to spend time with each other off the ice twice a week. You can watch a movie or grab a coffee or just sit and talk. The activity is not important to me. What _is_ important is that you grow your bond and the connection you already have. Too often, the death of a good partnership is lack of communication or different goals, and I always want you two to be on the same page. Is that understood?"

Hermione blinked. That's all? Snape just wanted them to… spend time together?

She could do that.

She liked spending time with Draco.

A glance to her left revealed that Draco seemed to be just as pleasantly surprised as she was.

"Right then. Let's run through that new lift sequence one more time, cool down, and then you can leave."

With the sudden change of subject, it took Hermione a moment for her mind to catch up with her body. By the time she processed what her coach had said, Draco had already offered his hand. She shook her head slightly and took it, and the two of them began the pattern they had spent the last hour rehearsing.

"So," said Draco, "What should we do today?"

It had been nearly a month since Snape had assigned the two of them to spend more time together. After a brief look at their packed schedules, it was decided that Saturdays were the most convenient time for what her dad called, "their little playdates."

Hermione, of course, wanted to bury her head in sand every time Dad used this term.

So far, they had gone to the movies—Hermione had quite enjoyed _The Prince and Me,_ but Draco looked like he would rather be anywhere else.

They had also been to a polo match two weeks ago. That one had been Draco's idea. Dobbs had driven them in one of the Malfoys' town cars, and had sat at their side through the whole thing with a not-so-well-hidden grin on his otherwise stoic face. And while Draco was quite enraptured by the whole thing, Hermione had spent most of the time reading the programme from top to bottom, trying to find something about the match to interest her.

As it turned out, _nothing_ about polo interested her one bit.

For the last couple of Saturdays, they hadn't been able to think of anything that both of them wanted to do. As a result, Draco had simply come over to her family's home and they had sat around watching telly and talking. Admittedly, it was rather nice sitting around for once without ending the day completely spent. The only problem with this kind of Saturday was her stomach.

It kept getting butterflies in it.

Hermione wasn't sure when they had started. Maybe it was when Draco took her hand out of habit on their way into the cinema. Yeah. That was probably it.

He had let go after they sat down, but the fluttering in her middle had lasted long after. Since then, whenever she sat beside him for too long, the fluttering would return. And it seemed like this Saturday would be no different.

They had already been sitting around for an hour today. Draco was lying on Hermione's bed, tossing a ball up in the air and catching it absentmindedly. Hermione sat against the headboard, a book for history class in her lap, trying desperately to distract herself from the bubbling sensation inside of her.

She only looked up when Draco asked his question.

"What do you mean, what should we do today?"

"I mean—" Draco rolled over onto his stomach to face her. "—we should do something more than just lying around. I'm bored."

Hermione marked her page and then shut her book. "All right, then. What do you want to do?"

Draco shrugged. "I dunno."

"Well the last time I suggested something, you practically fell asleep." Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"Yeah, and when _I_ suggested something, you looked like you could have set something on fire with your eyes alone."

This time, Hermione really did roll her eyes. "I did not look like that!"

" _Did so."_

Hermione groaned and fell sideways onto her pillows. "Fine. Let's just brainstorm together. Surely there's something we can do that we can agree on."

As they laid in silence, hard at work thinking of some sort of activity to do, Hermione realized that Snape might have been right about keeping their relationship strong.

After ten minutes of racking their brains without a single good idea (Draco's thought of cricket) could hardly be considered good), Hermione had resigned herself to another afternoon of flipping through channels with Draco and stuffing her face with popcorn. Thinking of hobbies for her and Draco was ridiculous. Wasn't skating already a hobby?

That's what they did together. They skated. And they danced. And they skated some more.

Snape had specifically said they couldn't go on the ice.

Hermione's eyes lit up. He hadn't said anything about dancing.

Without a word, she slid off the bed and padded over to her dance bag, which was hanging on a hook by her door. Draco didn't say anything either, but she could feel his eyes on her as she dug past her ballet slippers and spare leotards.

"I know it's in here somewhere," she mumbled, mostly to herself as she searched for the item that had popped into her mind. "Aha!" From the side pocket, she withdrew a glossy paper, folded in quarters. "I just remembered that they were handing these out the last time we were in the ballet studio."

She unfolded the paper—a flyer—and passed it over to Draco. He took it into his hands, and Hermione watched as his eyes flew over the text.

"Seriously? This is something you want to do?"

Hermione shrugged. "Well, yeah. I mean, we already dance together. We both like it. And this is something completely new to both of us." She paused, tilting her head as she watched a slight panic settle over Draco's features. "That is, unless you've been holding out on me."

"Yeah right." Draco snorted. "But, okay. Yeah, let's try it. Why the hell not?"

Thirty minutes, a change of clothes, and a car ride from Mum later, she and Draco entered through the front door of the ballet studio, dance bags in hand.

It was odd, Hermione thought as they crossed the lobby and walked into one of the studios, not to be wearing a leotard or special shoes. She had always worn slippers for ballet and more recently, heels for social dance.

Checking into her very first hip hop class while wearing dance shorts, a loose t-shirt, and trainers—it almost felt like committing treason. She felt the urge to make sure Mistress McGonagall wasn't watching as she stepped onto the dance floor beside Draco.

There were students of all ages in the class. Hermione recognized a few from her own ballet studies as well as some of the younger students she had once seen in toddler classes. It was odd to see them again. She had been taking private lessons with Draco for so long that it felt rather strange to be dancing with more than just him in this space.

"Okay, listen up!" the instructor called from the front. He was a tall, muscular bloke, and Hermione guessed that he might be the age of a university student. "I understand that all of you come from a ballet background. I am here today to teach a masterclass on the basics of hip hop. In my experience, some ballet dancers excel at hip hop. Many find it frustrating. But I'm hoping I can at least give all of you a taste of what hip hop is like."

There was a bit of collective murmuring around the room.

"Hermione, are you sure about this?" Draco hissed from beside her. "I feel like I'm just going to make a fool of myself with all these real dancers…"

"You _are_ a real dancer," Hermione whispered back with a grin. "We've been dancing together for two years."

"Yeah, _ice_ dancer. But compared to all these prissy little bunheads—" Draco was cut off by the music, something with a heavy bass beat that she had heard on the radio a handful of times.

"Right, everyone!" the instructor called again,

his body bobbing to the beat. "My name is Sirius, and I'm going to be your teacher for today. Here's the first lesson: I want you all to forget everything you've ever been taught in this room. Let's loosen up!"

From the moment Hermione began her first step-touch, everything about her body felt awkward. She knew she could feel the beat well enough, but she just wasn't sure what she was supposed to be doing with her arms. There had been no specific direction for what to do with them. Should she let them hang at her sides?

Some other dancers in the room had chosen this path, and they just looked strange.

Others were clapping their hands to the beat. This also didn't seem right.

Hermione looked over at Draco as she fought the urge to roll her shoulders back to retain her perfect posture.

His arms weren't doing anything in particular, but instead, he just seemed to be following the urge to do… _whatever_ with them.

And it was working.

Hermione tried to copy Draco, but it didn't feel natural at all.

Sirius added in more movement, this time with arms. By the time he was teaching the third set of eight bars, Hermione was in hell. Technically, she could parrot the moves back easily enough. She'd done faster, more difficult dances. But this… this was something else. She felt like she needed to point her toes and keep her arms graceful, but the dance was meant to be heavier—looser.

Every move felt awkward, whether it was the angle of her body or just the way she held herself. Hip hop was supposed to be cool and smooth, and right now, she felt everything but cool and smooth.

"Okay, for beats six, seven, and eight, you're going to dip to the left, then pop, pop!" Hermione watched as Sirius popped his chest out twice, his hand sitting directly and front and moving like he was pulling his chest muscles with a string. She tried to copy, but there was just something _off_ about everything she tried.

A quick glance around the room showed that, as Sirius suggested, most of the dancers were frustrated. Like Hermione, their foundation was in ballet: strict, tightly placed, and intentional. Very few of her classmates were smiling. Some were holding their arms at odd angles and most just looked out of place and stiff in the bodies they thought they knew so well.

A few looked close to tears.

But not Draco.

His focus was solely on Sirius. There was nothing awkward or forced about the way he moved his body. He seemed to follow the dance steps with ease.

For the first time since they started dancing together, Hermione felt a wave of envy rise within her.

He was better than she was at this.

Better by a longshot.

What sort of strange universe was this?

By the time they finished the basic routine, most of the other dancers seemed exhausted and ready to call it quits. A few of the younger ones excused themselves to the lobby, likely to call a parent to come pick them up.

"You looked like you didn't completely hate it," Hermione commented, elbowing Draco in the ribs as they gulped down water.

"It wasn't awful," he admitted as he wiped his mouth. His breathing was still a little labored. "But it was definitely different."

"Yeah, it was different, but you were really good. Better than me!"

Draco scoffed. "Better than you at dancing? Impossible."

Hermione bent down to pack her water bottle back in her bag. After a moment's hesitation, she also pulled off the t-shirt she had been wearing, leaving her in a tank top and dance shorts. "Well then you should watch me dance next go round, because I felt like I wasn't doing anything right."

Draco lightly shoved her arm as they walked back to the center of the now-less-crowded room. "I seriously doubt you were doing everything wrong," he said. "Maybe just fifty or sixty percent."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You are such a prat."

When Sirius gathered them the second time, he gave them a surprise task.

"All right. For the other dance we'll be learning today, you'll need a partner. You have—" He looked at his watch. "—ten seconds."

Before she met Draco, a situation like this would have stressed her out. Despite her talent in any dance class, others rarely wanted to pair with her. They always gravitated toward their friends—toward the girls they could giggle with while they learned the dance. Hermione had always been far too driven—too serious for them. As a result, she had often been left standing alone in the middle dance floor, the last one without a partner.

She'd partnered with the teacher a lot.

But now… she didn't think twice before turning to Draco and holding out her hand.

"Partner?"

He grinned at her and pulled her closer to whisper in her ear. "Well, I'm not going to dance with one of these tutu-wearing ninnies."

Hermione fought the urge to snort.

Dancing a hip hop routine with Draco was immediately easier than dancing by herself. Like when they were on the ice together, it was as though his energy became hers. But the more they danced together—the more pops and locks they did in sync—the more connected she felt to Draco.

Perhaps that was what Snape had been talking about.

As the music pulsed in her ears and sweat dripped down her back, she began to feel like she always did when she danced with Draco: like they were the only two ones in the room. She only had eyes for him.

And the best part? When she was dancing with Draco, there were no butterflies. There wasn't extra energy leftover for her to feel anything but focused.

By the time they finished learning their partner dance, Hermione was actually feeling good. Of course, she knew it might have just been the endorphins talking, but hip hop was looking more and more like another fun style of dance for them to learn. Before she could propose this idea to Draco, Sirius called them over one final time.

"All right, everyone. Before you're dismissed, I want to see what you've learned today. You can either perform the individual routine we learned or the partner one. It's your choice. We'll all sit up by the mirror and clap for you. I might offer some suggestions, but consider it to be very low pressure. Do I have any volunteers?"

Normally, Hermione was the first to raise her hand for any task, but this time, she hesitated. She turned to Draco as a very eager blond girl shot her hand up.

"What do you think?" she whispered in his ear after they had settled down at the front of the classroom. She prayed that he wouldn't make her dance alone. Not this time. "Individual or pair dance?"

"Are you kidding?" Draco's expression was incredulous. He placed a hand on her knee and leaned closer. Her body immediately erupted in shivers, originating from where his palm brushed against her bare skin. "You think I'd prefer to dance alone than with you? Skating alone, sure I'll do that. But dancing? No thanks."

So much for not feeling any fluttering.

When the first dancer finished the individual routine and everyone applauded, Hermione was only vaguely aware of her hands moving. All she could truly focus on was the feeling of Draco's hand lightly hitting her knee in place of clapping.

"Anyone want to go next?" Sirius called.

Draco shot Hermione a significant look, his eyebrows raised in expectation.

Hermione huffed. She could push her nerves aside. "Yeah. Why not?"

She shot her hand in the air.

When Sirius nodded in their direction, Hermione stood and helped Draco to his feet. "We'll be doing the partner dance," she explained.

As Hermione crossed the dance floor in front of so many familiar faces, she couldn't help but feel that she had changed exponentially in the last three years. All these other students still lived their normal lives with dance merely as a hobby.

Was she still living a normal life? She didn't think so. Not anymore, really. Especially when she was about to begin training full time.

But as she took her position directly in front of Draco to begin their rehearsed routine, she had the flash of a feeling that the wonderful but exhausting life she had with Draco… that was her new normal.

And she wouldn't trade her spot with the girls by the mirror any day.

Hermione had been dancing in front of crowds since she was a little girl. She had danced in front of thousands of people. Her skating had been televised nationally. But for some reason, this—performing hip hop of all things in a tiny masterclass—made her heart beat fast. She didn't feel the urge to throw up, but still…

And then she felt Draco's hands on her waist.

That hadn't been in the rehearsal.

Was he—?

He was improvising.

He never improvised.

Through her mild confusion, Hermione could feel confidence radiating off of him in waves and she knew almost immediately what was going on.

He was showing off, and the urge to roll her eyes was almost impossible to fight.

They moved through each eight count, methodical and practiced, but for Draco, there was something else happening. This was a side of him Hermione had never seen before, and it was _wild_.

Not only could he clearly feel the beat and move his body to the rhythm, he was also touching her at every given opportunity. Her waist. Her shoulder.

Her hips.

That was new.

Dancing with Draco like this… it was definitely electric. The fluttering in her stomach had turned liquid, and it was now coursing through her veins as the dance intensified in the last few bars.

When they snapped to their final pose, Hermione was practically a livewire.

Applause and the simpering of the other girls in the room filled her ears, as did the booming voice of their instructor. "Well done!" he said, bright white teeth fully exposed. "You two really picked up on that dance quickly. And I have to say, your chemistry was off the charts."

Hermione shot Draco a glance over her shoulder. He was wearing a massive smirk on his face.

"Have you two ever danced together before? Or did you just meet today?"

It took Hermione a moment to process the question, because in her mind, it seemed like such a silly one. That, and she was having trouble hearing her own thoughts over the incessant giggling and whispering from the other girls in the class. Before she could even get a word out, though Draco was already halfway through his answer.

"I know it sounds crazy, but we only just met at the beginning of this workshop." He turned to Hermione and crossed his arms over his chest with a wink. "What do you think? Should we keep dancing together?"

This time, Hermione really did roll her eyes. She also smacked him in the shoulder. "Oh, shut it, you. You're such a prat."

Draco drew back with feigned offense while Hermione rounded on their instructor. "I'm so sorry. He's my ice dancing partner. We're here to try a new style of dance and _my partner of three years_ is an idiot."

Instead of getting angry, Sirius barked out a single laugh, his wide shoulders shaking. "You two are completely mental, you know?" He snorted. "Right, well take a seat. Who's next?"

The girls who had been practically swooning moments before turned their attention back to their instructor.

As Hermione plopped down in front of the mirror once more, she nudged Draco playfully with her shoulder. "What were you thinking?" she hissed in his ear as another dancer started. "You're so ridiculous!"

He grinned back at her. "I wanted to see his reaction. That's all. And we made him laugh, so I don't see any harm in it."

"That's—well… whatever." She blinked at him for a moment, thinking back to the dance they just completed. He was resting his hands on his knees as he sat criss cross beside her. Those hands… they had been all over her even though they definitely didn't need to be. And even though she had been trying to avoid sitting beside him for too long, because she had been _so sure_ that was the cause of her butterflies…

They were back.

"Hey, Draco?" Her voice came out much softer. It might have been because her heart was beating in her throat.

"Yeah?" He turned his head to look at her. This time, there was no smirk on his face. Just his usual charming, boyish grin.

The flutters got worse.

"Why'd you—" Hermione fiddled with her hands in her lap. "—Why did you, um, touch me so much when we were dancing? It wasn't what we rehearsed."

Draco's eyebrows raised slightly. "Oh, well… I dunno. I guess I'm used to touching you is all. I nearly always have my hand on you whenever we're on the ice. It just feels… natural." He finished with a shrug, and for a reason she couldn't quite place, Hermione felt her heart sink.

"But don't get me wrong," he continued after a moment, his palm finding her knee. "I, er, like touching you. I know you're such a better dancer than I am, and when I touch you while we dance or skate… it makes we feel like we're connected or something. Like some of your dancing superpowers can rub off on me or something."

By the time he finished speaking his ears were so red that they almost looked like strawberries.

Inside of her, the flutters returned. She was glad.

At that moment, the room was filled with a smattering of applause again. The two of them put their hands together, though neither of them had watched one second of the performance.

When the last student had finally showcased what they had learned, the whole class was dismissed. Draco helped her up this time, and they made their way over to the door to grab their bags. But before they could make it there, Hermione heard the instructor call them back over.

"I wanted to talk to the two of you before you left and ask you a couple more questions. Is that all right?"

They both nodded and he continued.

"Have you two ever danced hip hop before today?"

They shook their heads.

"Really? That's so surprising. The two of you looked pretty good out there. It's rare to find dancers who have trained extensively in one style who can so easily learn a new one."

Hermione wanted to clarify that she definitely did _not_ think that hip hop was coming easily to her, that it made her feel impossibly awkward—more awkward than she had felt on a dance floor in a long time. To be told anything other than the truth flustered her. She didn't want to hear empty praise.

Sirius seemed to notice her hesitation, because he followed his compliment up with something a bit more reassuring. "I'm not saying that it was amazing. Like all classically trained dancers, you looked a little stiff. But compared to the others in your class?" He shot a nervous glance at the door, where most of the other dancers were filing through. "You showed a lot of promise. You mentioned you're ice dancers?"

"We are." Draco spoke this time. "We train on the rink in the mornings and take dance in the afternoons. Ballet. Social dance. We're very busy."

Their instructor nodded along, his brows furrowed.

"Do you think that you have time for one more dance lesson?"

Hermione blinked. "Do you—do you mean hip hop? Us, learn hip hop?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I do. I think with some work, the two of you could be brilliant. Could be another tool in your toolkit, I'd imagine."

Like it always did when the prospect of adding something new came to mind, their jam-packed schedule flooded into Hermione's mind. The way things were now, there was just no way… there was no time…

"I should tell you," Draco piped up, his tone far more business-like than it had been earlier. "We're moving to Sheffield once the school year's over. We're going to be taking online classes and training full-time up there, so anything you offer here in London would be off the table."

Sirius frowned, but the expression was only fleeting. The very next second, his face lit up.

"Sheffield, you say?"

They both nodded.

"I have a cousin up there—she's an _incredible_ dancer—owns her own studio and everything. I can talk to her for you. Her name's Dora Tonks. She'd love to teach you, I bet."

Judging by Draco's expression, it was like his birthday and Christmas all rolled into one.

She almost had no choice but to concede with a nod and a grin.

"Yes, please!" Draco practically shouted. "That would be amazing. We'll find a way to work it into our schedule."

Watching Draco be so giddy brought back the flutters in Hermione's stomach, and she nearly cursed inwardly. Why on earth was this happening so much? It was ridiculous.

It wasn't an entirely unpleasant sensation. It wasn't even annoying.

It was just… inconvenient.

Draco was her professional partner. Nothing more. Nothing less. She couldn't— _wouldn't_ screw that up.

As always, Lucius Malfoy's words weren't far from her mind.

She did her best to shake those away, at least.

After contact information had been exchanged and she and Draco exited the studio hand-in-hand, they still had nearly twenty minutes before her dad was supposed to arrive to pick them up.

The flutters were nearly constant now, interrupting what was supposed to be a normal conversation. She blamed it squarely on the sensation of Draco's hand in hers.

It was inconvenient, yes.

But if she stopped thinking about it too much, perhaps she didn't really mind the flutters. Not really, anyway.

"So," Hermione began, pushing a loose lock of hair that had escaped her bun behind her ear. "We have some time. Did you want to grab a snack or something? There's an ice cream shop just around the corner. We could go if you wanted."

Draco opened his mouth to answer, only to be interrupted by a high-pitched beeping melody. From his duffel, he pulled out the brand new mobile phone he had received recently. He had said something about his parents wanting to keep a sharper eye on him.

He eyed the device with disgust until he held it up to his face. In an instant, his expression shifted, a smile passing over his features. With a flip, he answered it.

"Pansy! Hi, it's been forever."

All the flutters evaporated, and were immediately replaced by lead weights.

"Oh, I'm in Barnet right now, actually. That's not too far. Yeah. I'll catch a cab. See you in a few, then."

He snapped the phone shut.

"Pansy's actually nearby, so I'm going to go meet up with her if that's all right."

He pulled his hand from hers, and Hermione couldn't help but feel rather empty. Her heart joined her stomach on the floor. Quickly, she pasted a smile on her face that she prayed looked genuine.

"Yeah. Sure. That's fine. Go—go on ahead. You spend all your time with me these days anyway."

Draco grinned at her. "Thanks, love. I owe you one."

Without another word, he stepped forward to hail a cab, leaving Hermione with an empty hand and nothing but confusion and the creeping tendrils of jealousy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless all of you for continuing to read my ridiculous self-indulgence.
> 
> For some reason, the thought of Draco hip hop dancing makes me laugh every time I think about it. 
> 
> The playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21UNgzUJE0kSX0VDNnJk6V?si=1kJeYA7iStKCxj3ILdesBw
> 
> See you all next week! xoxo


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione move to Sheffield to intensify their training.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to be completely blown away by your response to this story. It makes my little heart happy that you all are enjoying the ride.
> 
> Alpha love to Graceful Lioness!

**Summer 2004**

Draco pulled the last few items out of his final box and placed them precisely around his room. The toy gold medal went in his sock drawer, as always. The daily planner Hermione had purchased him went in his desk drawer, safely out of sight.

The framed photo of him and Hermione at All-England Skate, posing with her foot on his shoulder? The same one that had been in the paper? Draco propped that frame up proudly on his bedside table. It had been a birthday gift from Hermione. Somehow—and he still wasn't exactly how she pulled this off—she had managed to find that photographer from The Guardian and had gotten a colour copy.

"I know your father didn't like that article," she explained when she gave him his present. "But I figured that since we're going to be living away from our parents, you'll be able to hang it up or something."

She had said this so nonchalantly, but to him, it had been everything. Hermione knew how much Draco craved the freedom that was waiting for them in Sheffield. Even though he rarely saw his parents, the very fact that he had to live in the same house as their Olympic medals was pressure enough. But after their fourth place finish in the championships last year, it was nearly impossible to get through an entire conversation with his father without his disappointment in Draco filling the gaps between words.

Their time in Sheffield was like a new beginning, and Draco intended to savour every moment.

After disassembling the last box and tucking it into his closet for safekeeping, he flopped down onto his bed. It was a much smaller bed than he was used to. But he had gotten Dobbs to purchase him some high thread count sheets and a quality memory foam mattress topper, and he supposed that would do for now.

As Hermione kept reminding him, he'd be so bone tired at the end of nearly every day, he could sleep on a pile of rocks and not notice.

Today had been their first official practice at IceSheffield, and it had been brutal. Draco wasn't sure if it was the change of venue or if Snape had just gone off the deep end, but he had been unrelenting this morning. They had run through the same sequence at least fifty times. Each time, he listed at least five things they could improve upon, even in the end. Snape hadn't even complimented them once.

By the time the clock struck ten a.m. and it was time to throw in the towel, Draco wanted to collapse onto the ice and have Hermione simply drag his limp form back to their new dormitory. He wasn't sure how she had the strength to walk properly after all that.

"Don't be such a baby," she had said as she prodded him with the side of her skate blade.

Hermione hadn't offered him a single drop of sympathy since they arrived. Admittedly, he _had_ been a little dramatic at the end of practice, but she had at least laughed or rolled her eyes at him when he had pulled stunts like that in the past.

Ever since arriving though, she had been more focused than he had ever seen her before. She took every direction without question, hardly stopping to break in between run-throughs of today's sequence. If Draco knew her as well as he thought he did, she looked like she was running ragged.

There was a certain slump to her shoulders after morning practice. By the time he stopped mucking about and chased after her, she had disappeared into her dormitory. The next time he saw her was during their shortened, online school day. She had been so engrossed in whatever she had been working on that they never even said two words to each other.

By the time they were dismissed for the day, Draco could definitely tell something was going on. It became increasingly clear when, instead of eating together in the communal lounge with the other distance athletes, Hermione took her meal back to her room.

Draco surveyed his fully unpacked room with a sigh. A glance at the clock hanging on his wall told him that it was just past eight o'clock. And as someone who had to wake up at four in the morning, that meant that it was starting to get a little late.

But as he changed into his pyjamas, his thoughts kept drifting to the room on the far end of the corridor where he knew something was very, very wrong with his skating partner.

Snape had been very clear with them before they made the big move to Sheffield: away from their families, they had to be there for each other.

Dragging his eyes away from his very comfortable-looking bed, Draco threw on a dressing gown and slippers and began to tiptoe down the dormitory corridor. The building was fairly quiet. Serious student athletes like them tended to turn in incredibly early, so only a few of the doors had lights illuminating from the gap under the door.

Draco walked carefully past all the other doors to the one on the end where he knew Hermione was staying. Drawing out his fist, he knocked softly three times and whispered her name, praying she would hear him.

He was about to knock a second time when the door swung open. It took a moment to soak in Hermione's appearance. Like him, she was in her dressing gown. Her hair, so normally pulled back into a bun during their practices, was wild and loose, her curls extending well past her shoulders. Her face was, in a word, _sad._ Draco couldn't quite think of a better way to describe it. She had clearly been crying. Her cheeks were blotchy and her eyelashes were all stuck together with leftover moisture.

Draco wasn't sure why, but it occurred to him in that moment that she really was very pretty.

Pushing that thought aside, he went with the next thought instead.

"Hey, are you okay?" He reached forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. To his consternation, Hermione's face immediately crumbled, tears returning in full force.

Draco lifted his hand slightly off her shoulder before returning it again as an awkward pat. He tried to think of something to say that was kind or sensitive, but nothing in particular came to mind.

It wasn't until Hermione's sobs started to echo through the corridor that he finally was able to choke out, "Oh, Hermione…" before ushering her back into her own room and shutting the door behind them.

Hermione's room was already far homier than his, even after only two days. Rather than the sparse, modern look of everything he had in his dormitory room, Hermione's room had a plush, purple rug in the middle of the floor and a fluffy butterfly chair in the corner by the window. She had hung fairy lights above her bed, filling the whole room with a soft glow. And of course, in the shelves above her desk, she had filled every millimeter to bursting with books.

It was very… Hermione.

Draco guided her over to her bed before taking a seat beside her. It wasn't nearly as soft as his own bed, but he decided that should be a conversation for another time.

By now, Hermione was reduced to a puddle of tears. Her face was screwed up, and Draco was fairly sure that her nose was running. He'd seen this girl at her worst. She had fallen down in front of him and gotten bone tired in front of him. She had even thrown up in front of him. But there was something about this moment that seemed particularly vulnerable.

If this had been any other girl, he might have lost face and turned on his heel. But this was Hermione. His friend. His partner. He thought again about what Snape had said about supporting each other.

And Snape would definitely know if he wasn't holding up his end of the bargain. Snape always knew. It was like he could read minds or something.

Reaching his arm around Hermione's shoulder, he pulled her close. Her head flopped onto the crook of his neck, and even though he knew his dressing gown would be soaked in tears and snot, he didn't pull away. He didn't talk either, preferring to let Hermione get her tears out first. She cried and he held her. The minutes ticked by until sobs turned to sniffles and desperate, gulping breaths turned to soft hiccups.

Finally, after one big sniff, Hermione pulled away. Draco allowed his arm to linger around her as she wiped any lingering tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand like a small child.

"S-sorry," she croaked, her eyes trained on the ceiling. "I didn't mean—I feel so silly."

Draco shook his head. "You're not being silly. I have no idea what's going on, but I know you're not being silly." He patted Hermione's back before removing his hand. "That's why I came over here actually. To check on you. You were… _off_ at practice today and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

This, it seemed, was the right thing to say. Hermione turned to offer him a watery smile. Her whole face was like one big smudge, but Draco felt his whole body relax when her face lit up.

"Thanks."

They sat side by side, legs swinging over the edge of the elevated bed. Draco drummed his fingers on the floral comforter. The next thing to say wasn't quite so obvious.

"So," he began. "What _is_ going on?"

Hermione shook her head, one side of her mouth twitching. "You're going to think it's silly—"

"I've already said that you're not being silly."

Draco reached out and placed his hand on hers. She jumped at the contact, but didn't pull her hand away. He watched her throat bob slightly, as though she was trying to force herself not to say the word again.

"Right, I—" She fidgeted with her free hand, picking at a loose thread on her pyjama pants. "I miss my parents, okay?"

Draco had half a mind to laugh at the childish notion that she was nearly _fifteen_ and still missed her mum and dad. He didn't miss his parents at all. He was glad to be away from them, and Hermione knew it. He'd been gloating about it for weeks in anticipation.

But then again, Hermione's parents were fundamentally different from his own. That, and laughing would get him nowhere. He settled on squeezing the hand already holding hers.

"It's okay to miss them. They _are_ your parents."

Hermione sniffed. "Yes, but you're doing just fine without yours. I'm a mess."

"I'm doing fine because my parents are never around. I'm used to being alone. And besides—" He squeezed Hermione's hand again. "—when they were around, they weren't exactly supportive like your parents. If I had your parents, I'd miss them, too."

Hermione shot him a wet smile.

"Thanks," she murmured. "It's just… knowing my dad won't be here to drive us to practice with a bag full of snacks or… or tell me I'm doing a good job after Snape yells at us… it's hard."

"I'll do it."

Hermione cocked her head to one side. "You'll do what?"

"I'll tell you you're doing a good job."

Draco felt confusion rise in his chest when Hermione chuckled. "You? Tell me I'm doing a good job? Draco, you pick everything we do apart. More than Snape, sometimes."

It was true. Nothing short of perfection was acceptable when it came to skating. He had said his fair share of not-so-nice things to Hermione over the last three years when she made mistakes. And even though he tried to apologize when he said those things, it didn't stop the hurt in her eyes when she would tell him that, "It was fine, honestly."

Looking at Hermione's tear-stained face now, he felt a lump of guilt in his throat as he realized that in all likelihood, it hadn't been fine at all. On days like that, she'd always been unusually quiet on the ride home with her dad.

"I know I'm not exactly a cheerleader like your dad," said Draco, choosing each word carefully. "But I can try to not be so harsh. I can even slip in a compliment now and then, if you like."

He bumped Hermione's side with his elbow with a smirk. This earned him a grin.

Hermione settled her head back onto his shoulder and sighed. Even though she seemed a bit better, Draco could tell that she was still definitely off.

He leaned his head on hers as they stared off into space together. "What can I do, Hermione? I can tell you're still sad."

"I'm not—"

"Don't try to tell me you're not sad. It's pretty obvious."

"I don't know, honestly," she said with a sigh. "I guess I could use a distraction. Some cheering up, maybe."

Draco peered around the cozy room for something Hermione might consider distraction-worthy. She had already set everything up, so that wouldn't work. Eyeing the stuffed bookshelf, he had a brief thought that he could try to read to her, but after only two seconds of sitting with that thought, he realized that she'd likely nitpick and commentate the whole thing.

Not that either, then.

His eyes then landed on a shelf beside her desk. It, too, was filled with books. But on the bottom-most shelf, a small section was devoted to—

"Are those movies?" Draco asked, slipping away from Hermione and kneeling on the floor.

Hermione affirmed his suspicions. "They are, but the lounge is closed for the night. We don't have a telly."

Draco sifted through the titles until he found exactly what he was looking for. It was no surprise she had a copy with her. With nimble fingers, he pulled it out from where it was wedged in between _Ten Things I Hate About You_ and _Mary Poppins_ and held it out for Hermione to inspect.

"The lounge may be closed, but I should probably mention that I have a telly in my room."

Hermione's face split into a wide grin.

"Do you want to force me to watch your favorite movie? Would that make you feel better?"

Hermione hopped down from the bed and grabbed _The Princess Diaries_ from his hands.

"I think it would, actually."

She actually seemed a bit giddy as they both tiptoed back down the corridor to his room. It was already eight thirty, and they had to wake up in eight hours. But losing a bit of shut-eye was definitely worth it if it meant Hermione wouldn't cry herself to sleep tonight.

In his room, Hermione settled herself sideways on his bed, lying on her stomach, facing the telly. Draco bent down and inserted the disc before joining Hermione on the bed.

"Sorry I don't have any snacks," he apologized as the movie menu popped up onto the screen. "I'll have Dobbs send me some in the post for the next time you feel sad."

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him and he hit play on the remote.

Just a few minutes into the movie, Draco was sure he had found the cure-all for his skating partner. The tears had all gone from her face, hardly leaving behind any hint that there had ever been any tears at all. Her eyes were no longer rimmed with red, and she was even laughing as Anne Hathaway told Julie Andrews to shut up.

As the movie played, they rearranged themselves on the bed a handful of times. First, they had laid on their stomachs. When that got uncomfortable, they switched to sitting on the floor. But around the time that Mia's first dinner party was going horribly wrong, he noticed that Hermione was occasionally nodding off, her eyes closing and her head lolling a bit.

"Come on," he whispered, shaking her a bit. "Let's lie down instead."

Hermione nodded sleepily, and Draco helped her to her feet. They both stifled yawns as they climbed onto the bed, pulling a blanket on top of them as they went. It probably should have occurred to him that it was a strange thing to have a girl in his bed before they were fully settled in, her body tucked in front of his, his arm wrapped snugly around her middle. The moment they were settled in, his mind, which was supposed to be settling down, immediately kicked into overdrive.

He had a girl in his bed.

A girl.

Not just any girl.

Hermione.

He scoffed at himself mentally. Hermione was like his sister. Siblings shared beds all the time. Didn't they? It seemed like they might. He wasn't really sure about that one, being an only child.

Draco turned his attention to the armful of _girl_ in his bed. Sure, he'd lifted her countless times by now, held her by the waist and carried her in his arms around the rink. But holding her like this seemed entirely different. She was softer than he imagined, but then again, that might have been her plush dressing gown. And the way she smelled… he inched his face forward and inhaled the scent of her loose curls. It was kind of… floral? Draco couldn't put his finger on the right word to describe how Hermione smelled. Her hair was always up when they skated together. In this moment, with his nose buried in her hair, he decided he liked the scent.

Was it possible to like the way her hair smelled and still think of her like a sister?

He wasn't sure.

Draco tried to focus on the movie and push all thoughts of how lovely Hermione smelled from his mind. He could understand why she liked this story so much. It was still definitely cheesy, but there was something rather nice about a movie where everything gets resolved so neatly in the end.

In their real lives, they had taken a big gamble by making this move to train in Sheffield away from their families and schools. There was no way of knowing if the payoff down the road would be worth Hermione's tears right now. But perhaps if they worked hard enough, there was hope that their own story could have such a happy ending.

This was the thought that brought a smile to his lips as Mia made up with Lilly and invited her to the ball. He leaned forward slightly to ask Hermione if she was still awake, but as he did, he noticed how even her breathing was. Craning his neck ever so slightly, he peeked at her face.

The tears had long gone, and her face was peaceful now, mouth slightly open. Draco could count all the freckles that sat along her nose and cheeks. Her eyelashes fluttered slightly as she slept. Was she dreaming? He hoped it was about something good.

There was no point getting up and trying to turn off the movie. He'd just wake her up. Granted, it was technically against the rules to sleep in someone else's room, but it wasn't as though someone was going to come knocking. They just wouldn't make a habit of it.

His mind set, Draco settled back into his spot nestled behind Hermione. He'd just let the movie play through. A drowsy fog was beginning to settle in his mind now that he knew Hermione was out cold. She was so soft and warm… he scooted closer to her so that his body aligned with hers.

And then—he wasn't sure what made him do it—he leaned forward and brushed his lips over the only bit of skin he could reach: her neck, just below her jawline. He might have lingered a bit more than he should, but he was too sleepy to care.

Warm, content, and buried in Hermione's floral scent, Draco drifted off dreaming of Hermione twirling around him in a ballgown.

The first thing Draco became aware of as he floated back into consciousness was how very warm and relaxed he felt. How long had it been since he felt refreshed after his four a.m. alarm went off?

The second thing Draco became aware of was the very soft figure that was pressed into every inch of his front, including—

Draco's eyes shot open and he jerked himself away from Hermione's body before groping for the off button on his alarm clock. The moment the incessant beeping stopped, Draco's hands flew to his groin, where, up until seconds ago, there had been a delicious pressure building.

Beside him, Hermione stirred. She made soft little grunting noises that were doing nothing to calm his crotch. And then, _so help him_ , she stretched. At some point in the night, her dressing gown had come undone, revealing the skimpy pyjamas she was wearing underneath. As she stretched, her tank top rode up, exposing much of her stomach. A couple more inches, and—

All of him twitched.

He had to get out of there.

Fumbling, stumbling, and nearly falling out of bed, he managed to escape and make a bee-line for the communal bathrooms. Thankfully, no one else was up quite yet, and he managed to make it to a shower stall before anyone could see the unfortunate tent in his pyjama bottoms.

By the time he made it back to his dorm room, hair plastered to his forehead, pyjamas sticking to his skin after he had thrown them back on—he had forgotten a towel in his haste—Hermione was awake. She had made the bed and turned off the telly, and was now sitting at his desk chair flipping through a photo album of all his childhood skating competitions. Thankfully, her dressing gown was re-tied.

"Oh! You're back!" She set the album aside and smiled over at him. After a second, her expression shifted as she looked him up and down. "What happened? Why are you all wet?"

Draco shifted in the doorway. "Er, someone splashed me in the loo," he lied.

Hermione frowned. "Well that was rude."

Draco shrugged. "It's… whatever. I'm awake now, at least."

For some reason, his words made a blush bloom across Hermione's face, across the freckles he had counted last night. _Twenty three_.

"Listen—Draco, I'm so sorry for falling asleep in your room last night. I didn't mean to, and—"

She was babbling, and to his surprise, Draco found it to be terribly endearing.

He held up his hands and Hermione fell silent.

"It's fine," Draco said, trying to assuage her worries. "I actually slept really well."

"Me too," Hermione admitted, the blush abating a little. "I was worried that I wouldn't be able to sleep, but between you and the movie, I feel well-rested and ready for Snape to kick our arses today."

Draco shoved his hands in his pyjama pockets and looked determinedly at the ground.

"Well then… my room is open any time."

He could practically hear Hermione's brain ticking.

"But… that's against the rules. If anyone caught us—"

"Hermione, almost no one is up at this hour. And besides, it's for if you need me. Like last night."

"Or _you_ could need _me_ ," Hermione teased as she stood from his desk chair.

"Now let's not get carried away." Draco shook his head and smirked. "I know perfectly well how to soothe myself. I spent years perfecting the technique."

He paused after Hermione furrowed her brows. That had come off sadder than he had intended, somehow. Quickly, he changed the subject.

"Right, well, we better get changed. Snape expects us at warm-ups in forty-five minutes and we still need to eat."

Hermione nodded and they exchanged places, him standing by the desk and her in the doorway.

"Well, see you in a bit, then?" she asked, her hand on the doorknob. Draco got the sense that she was somehow asking something else. Like if he was okay.

"Yeah." He offered a closed-lip smile. "Yeah, see you in a bit."

With a final nod, Hermione opened the door and exited, leaving Draco with an odd sort of panging in his stomach that he definitely hadn't expected.

Focus didn't come as easily as it normally did during practice that morning. He wasn't entirely sure why, either. Every time he got close to Hermione to practice a sequence, which was most of their routine, his mind seemed to go a little fuzzy, sending his body into autopilot. Unfortunately, as an ice dancer, this was not a viable thing to do.

Snape yelled at him on three separate occasions to get his head out of the clouds. He'd already nearly run into a wall and crashed into Hermione.

The third time this happened, he simply slipped and fell on the ice. Lying on his back, he allowed frustration to bubble out of him in the form of a growl.

"Urgh, what's wrong with me?" he grumbled, sitting up.

Hermione knelt beside him on the ice. "I'm not sure. You said you slept all right?"

He nodded, and she stood, extending a hand out to him. The way she was looking at him… his heart lurched when he realized that there was concern in her eyes.

Normally, when he fell on the ice, his parents only criticized him for making mistakes.

Draco accepted her hand and she pulled him to his feet. Their bodies were very close again, and it became apparent almost immediately what had been distracting him all morning.

It was her.

Looking at his skating partner, he could see all her freckles again. All twenty three of them. It occurred to him for the second time in twelve hours just how pretty she really was. Draco felt a sudden rush of gratitude and affection for Hermione, and without giving it a second thought, he closed the distance between them as he wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in a tight hug.

"Thank you," he mumbled into her shoulder. He missed the floral scent of her loose curls.

"What for?" he heard her whisper.

"Just—being here."

Draco could practically feel her smile against his neck.

From across the rink, Snape's voice carried. "If Draco is all right, I suggest we continue on. Unless he's simply going to waste our entire morning?"

Draco broke away from the hug and turned to face his coach. His mind felt clearer than it had all morning.

"I'm good now!" he called, skating back to the starting point for this sequence.

The next run-through was nearly spot-on, and they actually earned a compliment from Snape when they finished. Hermione flashed him a dazzling smile, and in that moment, one very wonderful, very unfortunate thought crossed his mind:

He was attracted to his best friend—his skating partner and the one person he couldn't have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, friends. Our dear little Draco has had a realization.
> 
> And that realization is that he's fucked.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed that sweet bedsharing!
> 
> See you next week!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco head to an important competition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday, friends! 
> 
> All the love you have for this fic makes me so, so happy. 
> 
> Graceful Lioness deserve thanks as always!

**November 2004**

Moonlight filtered through the window of Hermione's dormitory room. Everything was especially bright tonight. It had snowed earlier that day, and the moon reflected on the white powder, creating an ethereal, blue sort of glow that trickled across her room. It created streaks across her purple rug and reached all the way across her bed, where she was lying wide awake.

It had to be midnight by now. She'd been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, given that they were supposed to be in bed with lights out by eight these days. Ever since they had moved into this dormitory, she and Draco had been following that rule most of the time.

But sometimes on Saturday nights or when she was feeling particularly lonely, he would sneak down the corridor to her room and climb into bed with her. He never did anything strange, and they were never weird about it in the morning. Sure, Draco usually took off pretty quickly, but that was probably just because they had to be down to the rink no later than five a.m.

It had become their thing, in a way. Recently, it had been happening more frequently. So frequently, in fact, that Hermione had actually grown used to the feeling of sleeping with Draco's arms wrapped around her. It was… nice. Comforting.

Sometimes they fell asleep watching a movie in his room. Other times they stayed up talking until one of them nodded off. Last night, Draco had been gracious enough to listen to her vent for nearly forty-five minutes to help get her pre-Nationals jitters out of the way.

He'd listened well for those forty-five minutes as she talked through her fears about losing again… and her fears about winning as well. By the time her voice tapered off, she finally picked up on the soft pattern of his breathing.

Hermione had fallen asleep with a small smile on her face last night, knowing Draco had been there, even if he had dozed off while she spouted off her insecurities.

Tonight, though, even though it was only twin size, her bed felt impossibly large. Given that the next day was the UK National Skating Championships, they figured they needed as much rest as possible. That, and there were a lot more adults around because of the competition. The last thing they needed was to get caught sleeping in the same bed.

There would be assumptions and accusations about her relationship with Draco.

They might be kicked out of the dormitory.

She would most certainly face a lecture from her parents that would involve both looks of disappointment and a condom demonstration.

None of those things sounded appealing, so they had agreed, at least for the next few nights, to sleep separately.

When Hermione was going on her fourth hour of trying to fall asleep though, she began to think that it might have been worth the risk.

She rolled over to the empty spot on her mattress that had somehow become _Draco's_ spot. It was funny how quickly he had become the most important person in her life. That spot had been taken up by her parents for so long, and it wasn't as though they had had much competition up until this point. There hadn't been any good friends or siblings.

And then came Draco.

He had been difficult to work with for the first few months they skated together. He was still difficult, sometimes. Stubborn, ambitious to a fault, and capable of throwing a temper tantrum to rival a toddler. But he had somehow managed to grow on her, slithering his way in so completely until she couldn't remember what life had been like before he was in it.

Draco was the one she turned to for support.

Draco was the one upon whose shoulder she cried when she was angry or sad or frustrated.

Draco was the one with whom she shared nearly all her laughs.

Draco was the one who held her as they slept.

Granted, that last one probably wasn't exactly typical for two fourteen year-old skating partners, but what did they care about typical? Their lives were never made to be typical, anyway.

They were destined for something great, that much was clear. And there was no one she'd rather face that destiny with than Draco.

The thought floated across her mind as the moonlight shifted ever so slightly across her floral comforter, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks. It had been harder to deny in recent months—especially after they started sleeping in the same bed—that she had real feelings for Draco. Those feelings were hidden easily enough during the day. Their work had become so focused, there was no time for something as superfluous as feelings. There were lifts to work on and footwork to practice, choreography to perfect and positions to correct.

Anything other than the task at hand left Hermione's mind when they were skating, and they skated from dawn to dusk, some days.

It was only after they had finished for the day, when her mind was finally able to relax, that feelings involving Draco began to creep in. And ever since they began living in the dormitory, those feelings had grown into something far more central to Hermione than she cared to admit.

Mr. Malfoy's voice was, after all, ever-present in the back of her mind, poisoning any drop of hope she had when Draco smiled at her or held her tight.

Still, on a night like tonight, when nerves were raw, not even Mr. Malfoy could stop her from wishing Draco was there to calm her.

Hermione rolled over again, eyes wide now. Would she manage to get even one wink tonight?

Out of the silence, a series of soft beeps sounded from her bedside table. Hermione narrowed her eyes and groped for the mobile phone Mum and Dad had purchased for her last month after insisting that she didn't call enough.

She pulled the device close to her face and squinted at the illuminated screen.

_D: I kno this is a long shot, but r u still up?_

In a flash, Hermione rubbed her eyes and sat up. She stifled a yawn as she typed back quickly with her thumbs tapping the number buttons.

_H: Yeah. Can't sleep. U 2?_

A response came almost immediately.

_D: No. I've been awake 4 hours picturing all the ways tmrw could go wrong_

_H: Ugh. Sry. Want 2 talk?_

_D: Yeah. I have an idea._

_H: Want me 2 come 2 ur room?_

_D: No. Grab ur jacket & shoes and meet me in the corridor in 2 min_

Hermione stared at her phone screen in confusion. Jacket and shoes? Did that mean he wanted them to go for a walk outside? It had been snowing nearly all day, and the thought of wading through a foot of the stuff didn't exactly sound appealing.

Still, he rarely came up with truly stupid ideas, so she complied, pulling on her thick, black skating jacket and a pair of trainers and pocketing her phone before opening the door as quietly as she could.

As usual, the corridor was perfectly silent. With a dormitory filled with dedicated athletes, this came as no surprise. Hermione often wondered if she and Draco were the only ones who broke the rules like this, but she wasn't stupid enough to ask around.

Tiptoeing to Draco's door, she leaned on the concrete wall across from him until it opened moments later. Like her, Draco wore his skating practice jacket and trainers. He grinned at her as he shut the door behind him, careful for it not to make a sound. They set out together toward the lounge.

"Where are we going?" Hermione whispered once they were in the stairwell at the end of the corridor. It felt strange, sneaking around after hours. It was one thing to go into each other's rooms, but… were they leaving premises?

Hermione's stomach twisted at the thought of getting caught.

"Somewhere we can talk," Draco whispered back as he turned down the next flight of stairs.

Hermione balked. "We can talk in my room! Or yours."

"Too stuffy. Needed to get out of there."

They reached the ground floor, and before Draco could pull the door open that led to the athletic complex where they trained, Hermione grabbed him by the shoulder and wheeled him around.

"Draco Malfoy!" she hissed, pointing a finger in his wide-eyed face. "You tell me where we're going this instant! Two young people like us going out this late—we could get killed. Or worse, kicked out. Goodbye Olympics!"

Draco's eyes narrowed in on her accusatory finger. He reached up and pushed it away. On his face, a smirk that Hermione was now very familiar with spread across his cheeks.

"Just trust me, okay?"

Though there was mischief in his lips, something about the way his eyes shone in the near darkness compelled Hermione to follow him. It was almost as though there was something going on with him—something deeper than midnight giddiness.

Draco pushed the door open as quietly as he could, albeit with a small creak. Hermione winced when she heard it. The two of them froze, midway through the doorway, and Hermione was sure that the both of them were listening intensely for any signs of footsteps from a security guard.

When none came, Hermione felt her lungs loosen and her heart unclench just a little. They made their way across the long sky bridge that connected the athletic dormitories with the practice facilities. Some teens in their building were skaters. Most were swimmers, gymnasts, wrestlers, or runners. The complex they used was technically a community resource, but they were some of the best facilities in the country, and it was a bit more centralized than London.

It had been a real stroke of luck that a training spot for her and Draco had opened up this summer. Most Olympic-level UK athletes trained here at some point. To Hermione, it felt like such a big honour just to walk these halls every day. To Draco, as he had voiced on many occasions, it was like ticking off a big mark on his to-do list.

And while Hermione did feel a bit funny breaking and entering into the facilities—that's what they were doing, right?—Draco had told her to trust him. And she did trust Draco. Implicitly. So she followed behind him, cautious, but confident.

They passed through a few doors, none of which were locked, before they finally reached their apparent destination. Hermione knew it by the sudden drop in temperature.

"Ice rink?" she whispered as Draco grasped the metal handle on the navy blue door.

He nodded. "Yes. I figured we could go in and just… talk, I guess."

Hermione paused and drew herself up to her full height. "Talk? You seriously brought me all the way to the rink just to talk?"

Draco shot her a look. "I _told_ you, it was too stuffy in our rooms. Besides—" He pushed the door open to reveal the ice rink, dark, cool, and completely still. "Tomorrow this place is going to be packed. I wanted to be here one last time before everything gets crazy… while it's still just us."

The look on Draco's face made Hermione want to melt. He was evocative when he needed to be on the ice for a performance, but off the ice, his features were usually far more schooled than hers. To anyone who didn't know him well, he was hard to read. But looking at the way his grey eyes were still shining and his mouth twitched, Hermione could tell that he was feeling nervous. Perhaps even scared.

"Just us, huh?" She reached out and slipped his hand into hers, lacing their fingers together. "What about Snape? He's always out on the ice with us."

Draco snorted. "You know what I mean."

She squeezed his hand. "Yeah. I do."

They found an empty bench to sit on. It didn't matter where they sat, really. The whole place was empty. Draco was right. It was nice to just… _be_ at the rink before hordes of people descended upon it later this morning. There was something rather peaceful about an empty stretch of ice, Hermione found. In a matter of hours it would be scratched up by countless skaters and then buffed by the zamboni before being scratched all over again.

But for now, it was smooth. Flawless, even.

Hermione had been staring at the flawless ice for at least a couple minutes before she realized she was still holding his hand. Immediately, her heart began to race, and she loosened her grip in an attempt to pull away.

But the moment she did this, Draco's grip on her tightened, holding her in place.

She turned her head to see his face. His gaze was still trained on the ice, and there was definitely something sad about the downward turn of his lips.

"I'm really nervous this year," he said into the empty rink. "I haven't brought it up, really, because I know how nervous _you_ get."

Hermione frowned. "Draco I—"

"I know you'll probably be upset at me for not being honest with you, especially because you ranted for least thirty minutes last night about how you were scared to win—"

"It was not thirty minutes!" Hermione hissed in mock indignation.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Okay," she admitted. "I checked the clock. It was closer to forty-five minutes. But still, you should have told me instead of letting me prattle on like an idiot."

"You're not an idiot. And I knew you'd be nervous." Draco shrugged, returning his gaze back to the ice. "I just figured that I could handle my nerves, so I didn't say anything. And then tonight…"

He squeezed Hermione's hand again. "Tonight, when I couldn't sleep, I had all these thoughts just circling around my head over and over until I was so keyed up that I thought I might pull a trick out of your hat and vomit."

Hermione might have been offended at any other time, but Draco's croaking voice was so miserable that she didn't have the heart to drag him through a bit of teasing. Instead, she swung her body so it faced him, switching which hand held his, and used her left hand to rub soft circles on his back.

"Draco, I had no idea," she said in a voice so soft, it might have been cooing. "I'm so sorry."

He shrugged as he leaned into her touch.

"What's brought this on? You've just always struck me as someone who's so confident. Were you this nervous last year?"

Draco shook his head. "Last year, I was convinced we'd get on the podium. Get to compete in the semi-finals of the Grand Prix. And then we got fourth. Which is pretty amazing considering that we were only thirteen, but still…"

He hugged his knees to his chest with one arm. Hermione leaned forward a bit, trying to get a good look at his face.

He seemed so distant.

"But still, what?" she pressed lightly.

Draco swallowed. "But it still didn't stop my family from being disappointed. I felt it all last year. That's why I was so excited to come here—you know that, though. It's been really good for me to get away from my mother and father and their expectations. I'd almost forgotten what it was like for them to feel disappointed in me. And then—"

He grimaced.

"—And then we went out for supper last night. While you and your parents got pasta, we went to a fancy Michelin-starred French place. They sat across the table from me and spent two whole hours lecturing me on the importance of getting on the podium today. They even told me that bronze might not be acceptable."

From her vantage point, Hermione could see the beginnings of wetness gathering in the corners of Draco's eyes, but she didn't dare interrupt him. He pressed on.

"So when I got back to my room, I—I dunno. I just sort of cracked. Went catatonic. Laid in bed for hours until I finally got the courage to send you that text."

Hermione sighed, her hand continuing to rub gentle circles on his back. "I can see why you wanted to get out of there."

"I feel like I can breathe here," he said, turning his head slightly. "Like I can be myself at this rink. And I—"

Hermione watched his throat bob as he hesitated over his next words.

"—I feel like some of that is being away from my parents. But most of it, honestly, is you."

Hermione wouldn't have been surprised if her heart stopped beating at that exact moment. All the breath left her lungs and the flutters in her stomach that she had been fighting for months broke free and flitted all the way to her fingertips and toes.

 _He can_ _ **breathe**_ _because of you._

Her hand stopped rubbing circles on his back as he turned. They both faced each other, straddling the medal bleacher. There was an intensity in his eyes—one that Hermione hadn't seen before. She'd seen intensity there before, yes, but not like this. Before, his gaze had been filled with fire and passion for skating. It had been filled with a desire to win above all else.

This intensity was different. Slow, almost. Burning. Smouldering.

Draco took both her hands into his and Hermione felt her mouth go dry. The heart that had stopped just moments before was now pounding against the cage of her ribs like a prisoner demanding to be seen or heard, even in a small way. Hermione briefly wondered if Draco could hear how madly it was beating.

He gazed at their hands for a moment his eyes lingering, before moving his eyes up to meet hers.

Hermione could have drowned in them.

"Hermione, when I was sitting at that table, I swear, I felt smaller than I ever have in my whole life. All this hard work we've been putting in, I felt as though it wasn't worth a damn to my parents if we don't make it up on that podium. It made me wonder if the only reason my parents ever had me was so that they could say they had Olympic material in their genes."

The beating in Hermione's chest turned to a sharp ache as Draco spoke. She was filled with the sudden urge to scream at his parents in their massive manor. She wished she could learn some sort of magic spell to turn them into bugs and squash them under her trainer.

But thoughts like that wouldn't help her. She re-focused back on Draco.

"Those were the thoughts I couldn't shake tonight. And I just knew—I had to see you. I had to talk to you."

Hermione tried to think of something to say. She opened and closed her mouth a couple times, but no sound came out. It was as though someone had put a stopper between the jumbled thoughts in her mind and her tongue.

It didn't seem to matter to Draco though. He squeezed her hands and kept talking.

"I wanted to bring you out here to talk because I realized something, and I thought you deserved to know."

Every inch of Hermione was trembling with anticipation of his next words. She tried to swallow, but found her throat wasn't quite working either. Inside, her heart continued to beat furiously.

"I used to skate to please my parents. If I earned a gold, I earned their praise. Anything less, and it was a lecture. If I didn't even come close to the podium, sometimes it was even a smack."

Hermione's tongue suddenly worked again. "Draco! That's-that's barbaric!"

Draco grimaced. "I know that now, I think. But what I realized tonight, above all else, is that I don't skate for them any more. My dreams are the same. I still want to go to the Olympics and stand up on that podium with a gold medal around my neck."

He leaned even closer, keeping their hands clasped. He was so close, in fact, that Hermione could smell whatever shampoo he had used that night. It was earthy and masculine and somehow very _Draco_. She inhaled deeply in hopes that it would quell the way her hands were shaking.

"But what I know now—what I know for certain—is who I skate for. I skate for me."

Hermione could have laughed.

Of course this was his natural conclusion.

_Draco Malfoy, always putting himself—_

"And I skate for you. For us."

— _first?_

"What?" The word that escaped her lips was so small she could hardly hear it, herself.

"That's what I wanted to tell you. It only felt right to bring you here, to the rink, to say it. I skate for us now. For our future. Not for the Malfoy name. For us." Draco rearranged his grip on her hands, and Hermione could have sworn she felt sparks beneath his fingertips. For some reason, his breathing was laboured now. He was no longer croaking, but instead, barely able to get out each breathy word as it spilled from his lips. "You're the one I want to celebrate with when we do well. You're the one I want to lean on when we mess up."

He leaned his forehead forward to touch hers, and Hermione felt her own breath catch.

"Is that okay? Can I—skate for just us from now on?"

Hermione had never heard him sound so vulnerable before. So scared. His voice was trembling just as much as her body. There was something passing through the air between them that Hermione couldn't place, but she knew in that moment, that there was nothing more powerful on the earth than that feeling.

She pressed her forehead into his and nodded. "Yes," she said, her voice miraculously steady and strong. "Yes, you can skate for just us. I'll skate for just us, too."

"Just us?"

"Just us."

They stayed like that for a bit. It seemed as though neither of them wanted to move. At least that's what Hermione thought. If only they could stay like this just a while longer without the pressure of competitions or practices or parents.

If only it could be just them. Just for even a small amount of time.

Eventually, Draco's digital watch chimed, and it was with great reluctance that Hermione pulled away.

As she did, she couldn't help but notice the funny look on Draco's face. For the second time that night, she saw something in his eyes that she couldn't quite place.

But it was late and they had the National Championships in just a few hours.

"Promise me one thing?" she said as she swung her leg back over the bench.

"Anything," Draco returned, mimicking her action.

"Tomorrow—" Hermione glanced at Draco's watch. "Well today, actually, when we're out on the ice in front of a full audience, let's just have fun." She watched as Draco's eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline. "I mean, we're still only fourteen. We want to do well, obviously, but we don't want to fall out of love with it all. Today when we skate, let's do it for us. Let's give it our all and end the day smiling no matter what."

Draco seemed to consider the idea for a moment before nodding slowly.

"I promise. Smiles at the end of the day."

Hermione reached for his hand this time. "Feel like you're ready to get some sleep?"

There was no hesitation when he nodded.

With one last look at the empty rink, she led the way back up the steps and through the corridors of the athletic facilities toward the student dormitories. They didn't speak as they walked, partially so they weren't caught, and partially—at least to the best of Hermione's perception—because there didn't seem to be much else to say. Draco had freed himself of the words that had been weighing down all night. He seemed much freer now. Much lighter.

He even looked a little sleepy.

It was just past one fifteen when they slipped back into the corridor where their dormitory rooms sat. Draco's room was closest to the stairwell.

As they stood outside of his door, Hermione shot him a single questioning look.

 _Do you want me to spend the night?_ She asked without saying a word.

He hesitated at this question, looking at first like he wanted nothing more than to nod his head and open the door for them both. But after a few seconds he shook his head instead. He offered a hug, opening his arms.

Hermione walked right into them, her own arms encircling him, her cheek pressed into his shoulder. How long they stood like this, Hermione wasn't sure. When they finally pulled away, an odd sort of weight settled in her stomach as she bid him goodnight and stared down toward the end of the corridor, where an empty bed was waiting for her.

Hermione knew that Draco wasn't one for flashy costumes, and she could see why. Backstage at the British Championships, they had seen all manner of gaudy, sequined dresses and velvet, high-waisted trousers. He eyed each costume with increasing disdain as they waited backstage much as they had done last year.

The company was nearly identical to last year as well, still with twelve competing couples. The Weasley siblings were back as well as Cedric and Cho. Some had graduated on to the senior level of skating and others hadn't made the cut, but for the most part, Hermione recognized everyone's faces.

And what some of them were wearing was particularly atrocious. The poor Weasley siblings were wearing matching sparkly magenta costumes that clashed horribly with their ginger hair. And the worst part of all was that she was pretty sure that the brother, Ron, had been trying to flirt with her moments before. It had been nothing short of awkward as he tried to stick his hands in the nonexistent pockets of his sparkly trousers.

Draco had rescued her, thankfully, and they were now huddled together in their own little corner. Most of the couples had gone already and they would be on next. The order of performances had changed a bit from that morning when they had performed their compulsory and original dances. After these two dances had been performed and the scores had been tabulated, the order was rearranged based on score in ascending order. Lower scoring couples performed earlier, and couples that performed later were more likely in the running for the podium.

Draco and Hermione had performed ninth for the first two dances. It was the same slot they had performed in last year. It was a slot that meant fourth place. No podium.

This year, going into their free dance, they were skating eleventh in line.

Hermione was almost giddy when the new order was announced. It meant that only one couple—Cedric and Cho—were ahead on the scoreboard. It meant that if they went out there and skated their hardest, they had a shot at gold.

Draco had looked close to tears at the announcement of the new order.

They spent the next hour trying to keep each other calm and distracted in any way possible. Unfortunately for the other contests, it involved them commentating on everyone's costume of choice from a quiet corner of the room. There was the dress covered in silver feathers. And the couple who didn't match at all—one in hot pink and another in lime green. Of course, their own costumes were also a bit sparkly here and there, but they didn't need any self-deprecation at the moment.

When the room was nearly empty with only Cho and Cedric remaining, Hermione's nerves returned in full, her stomach alight with the flutter of frantic wings. The nerves didn't die away, even as they stood and grabbed their skates, preparing to make their way over to the rink.

Her heartbeat rang in her ears with each step they took toward the door that blocked out all the noise and light from the other side. Beside her, Draco's hand held hers in a vice grip.

"Just us?"

His voice wavered.

"Just us."

In a burst of light and colour, the door burst open. The now-familiar tall woman poked her head through. "Granger and Malfoy, you're up."

They emerged into the rink just as the tenth couple was finishing up the last few turns of their performance. Judging by the slightly lackluster applause, something had gone wrong.

Hermione's suspicions were confirmed when she saw tears rolling down the girl's face as they took their bows.

The sight did nothing to quell the nerves that were now radiating through every fiber in her body as she slipped her feet into her skates and began to tie them.

Snape emerged from a separate entrance a little ways away and gave them their usual pre-competition lecture about focusing and footwork and attention to detail. When he had said his piece, he clapped them both on the back and gave them space to make final preparations.

For her and Draco, that only meant one thing.

"C'mere."

Draco pulled Hermione into his arms. She laid her head on his shoulder and he did the same. Instantly, she felt herself melt into him.

"You're going to be too tall for me to do this soon," Hermione commented as she closed her eyes and breathed in his scent.

"I'll never be too tall to hug you." She heard his breath hitch with a chuckle. "Besides, I thought you'd like it when I get a bit taller. It'll mean we can do better lifts."

"But your shoulder is such a good pillow." She pretended to whine, but Draco cut her off.

"Well, think about it this way." He pulled away slightly and held her at arm's length. His eyes were soft again, like they had been in the middle of the night when all the madness surrounding them had been nothing more than an empty room full of promise. "When I grow some more and I hug you, you'll come up to my chest, right? When that happens, you'll get to hear my heartbeat."

It was a completely cheesy thing to say, but Hermione found that she didn't mind. She pulled back and stuck her tongue out at him. "Shut up and breathe with me."

Hermione leaned into his arms once more, her fingertips brushing against the thin fabric of his collared shirt. Her eyes closed.

In. Out.

In. Out.

All that mattered out there was Draco.

In. Out.

They were skating for themselves. Not for Snape. Not for their parents. Not even for a medal. Just for themselves.

In. Out.

Hermione's heart slowed just enough so that she wasn't shaking anymore.

The roar of the crowd… The bright lights above them… They all faded away.

In her arms, she felt Draco's breathing steady itself.

"We've got this," she whispered into his ear.

He didn't respond with words. He nodded instead, and though Hermione couldn't see him, she felt his hair move against her neck.

The previous couple's scores were announced over the loudspeaker.

"That's our cue." Hermione held Draco at arm's length. With one last nod, they removed their blade covers and waited for the tall woman to open the gate.

As they took their positions in the center of the ice, Draco's words from last night—or had it been this morning? Their break-in seemed like a lifetime ago—floated through her mind.

" _Is that okay? Can I—skate for just us from now on?"_

The look in his grey eyes was the same. Intense. Full of something she couldn't quite figure out.

And then the music started. Soft percussion set the beat and the smooth sounds of Frank Sinatra's voice filled the rink, and their dance officially began.

This performance was one like they had never done before. It was as though their hearts, their breathing, their bodies—all moved as one. There were no stumbles, no falls, and no mistakes as far as Hermione could tell. By the time they reached their first lift sequence, she already knew that this performance would yield their highest score of the season.

When he set her back down on the ice and they began to skate backward together, hand in hand, Draco began to do something he'd never done outside of practice: he mouthed the words to the song. Snape hated when he lip synched. He thought it took away from the dignity of the performance. And Draco tried to stop, he really did. Hermione had seen him open his mouth only to shut it immediately countless times during rehearsals. It was almost like a reflex for him at this point.

But somehow, this didn't quite feel like a reflex. He wasn't making any sort of effort to correct himself or close his lips. Instead, his lip synching seemed intentional. Not that Hermione knew for sure, of course. But unlike in the past, this time, his eyes never left hers as the words spilled from his lips.

_In other words, please be true._

_In other words, I love you._

It was almost as though he was actually serenading her as they danced, and Hermione couldn't help the way her stomach twisted under his gaze. No one outside of her family had ever said those words to her, and it took every ounce of her conviction not to allow herself to melt.

She had to remind herself to focus. They were professionals, and a big part of ice dancing was acting.

As they headed into their twizzle sequence, Hermione knew one thing for certain: Draco sure put on a hell of a show.

By the time they completed their final and most complicated lift, the only bits of the dance left to do were the final few flirtatious turns and the ending pose, and Draco's lip synching was so in-character that Hermione couldn't stop herself from grinning.

It may have been a show, but she was certainly enjoying every second of it.

This was why she loved skating with Draco. He made her smile just by being himself on the ice, and if that in itself wasn't the equivalent of a gold medal today, she wasn't sure what was.

With the final riff of the piano, the song ended and Draco dipped Hermione so close to the ice she could feel the cold prickling along the back of her neck.

The applause was instantaneous. It erupted all across the stadium as Hermione and Draco simply stared at each other, still locked in their final pose. Their chests heaved as they fought to fill their lungs with oxygen. Like Hermione, it seemed that Draco couldn't wipe the smile off his face. It was so wide that his dimples showed.

If she could have, Hermione would have stayed in that moment forever.

And then, without warning, Draco tugged on the hand he was holding, pulling her to her feet and into a tight hug.

This hug wasn't like the kind they shared while they slept. It wasn't like one they had given each other just minutes before, either. This wasn't meant to show reassurance or comfort.

No, this was pure exuberance. Pure celebration. Draco gave a loud whoop and lifted Hermione off her skates, spinning her on the spot.

"We did it!" he cried, all sense of decorum lost. As he hugged her, she felt all of him pressed against her, and it reminded her so much of the nights they spent holding each other. It felt right. It felt like home.

He held her up by her waist, her arms wrapped around his neck. Draco was practically luminescent, his smile wider than any Hermione had ever seen on him.

All around them, cheers and applause were beginning to die down. It was their cue to take their bows and exit the ice.

But before she could wiggle out of his grasp, Draco did something new. Something unexpected.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips firmly to her cheek. They were soft and warm, and Hermione felt an immediate blush spread across her face and ears. She hardly had a chance to truly process what had just happened before he set her back onto her skates and turned her into their bowing sequence.

Hermione's thoughts flew in every direction as they bowed to all four sides of the stadium.

Draco had kissed her.

Kissed her.

In front of everyone.

But was that really a kiss?

Did cheek kisses count?

Hermione hardly noticed as the two of them skated over to the edge of the rink and stepped out. She floated along, lost in thought as she covered her blades and made her way over to the Kiss and Cry area. There was a vague awareness that Snape was speaking animatedly to them—more animatedly than she had ever seen him speak before.

As they took their seats and gulped down water, Hermione's eyes kept darting to Draco's lips. They were rather nice lips, if she thought about it. Pink. Soft-looking.

What would they feel like on her own lips?

Hermione was shaken out of her thoughts when she felt Draco's hand land securely on her knee. She turned her head to see him staring up at the scoreboard hanging down from the ceiling and the roar from the rink came back into focus, loud and chaotic.

When a calm female voice began to speak over the loudspeakers, both she and Draco leaned forward, eyes peeled on the numbers, ears strained to hear the first hint of their fate.

" _Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger have earned in the free dance… 84.75 points, this season's best. At a total score of 124.56, they are currently in… first place."_

The hand on Hermione's knee tightened and she heard herself shriek.

First place.

They were in first place.

Hermione wiped at the corner of her eyes before turning to hug Draco once more. She placed her chin on his shoulder as the full realization of what they had just done sank in.

Her elation was hardly even dampened at all when she realized that their victory might be a brief one. As they were led backstage, they passed Cedric and Cho, who were taking their places for their own free dance.

In another moment—at another competition—Hermione might have been more worried about being knocked back to second place. But even as they sat backstage in a room full of leg-shaking, nail-biting ice dancers, Hermione couldn't shake her joy.

Draco had kissed her cheek.

They had their best skate of the season.

They would make the podium, no matter what.

Draco's father wouldn't hit him this year.

Beside her, Draco's own leg had begun to shake.

Minutes ticked by. A free dance only lasted four minutes, but it somehow felt like much, much longer.

Hermione placed a hand on her cheek, where Draco's lips had been not so long ago.

She felt her stomach sink a little when she discovered there was no lingering evidence.

And then the door swung open and the tall woman stepped inside.

"Diggory and Chang are moving to the Kiss and Cry Station, and the winners will be announced shortly. I need my potential medalists to come with me for the announcement." She looked down at her clipboard, and Hermione all the air left her lungs.

"Weasley and Weasley, Malfoy and Granger, and Flint and Greengrass, let's go. Everyone else, well done. Please wait here for the group photo at the end."

Hermione pushed herself to her feet and held out a hand for Draco.

He looked like he might be sick, his usual alabaster skin replaced with a delicate shade of green.

As directed, they followed the tall woman through the corridor and out into the rink. A blaring pop song greeted them as they stepped into the bright white light of the rink. The judges seemed to be taking their time—Hermione recognized the song from the radio, and it was already at least a minute or two in.

From beside her, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Hermione turned to see the Weasley sister. She was practically bouncing on her feet while her brother was like Draco—he looked like he needed to retch into the nearest toilet. Ginny was patting a little roughly on the back.

"Good luck," she said through an exhale. "We're going for bronze this year."

Hermione nodded and swallowed. "Yeah. Good luck."

A hush fell over the crowd as the same, calm woman's voice began to speak.

Hermione squinted at the scoreboard, her mind ready to make quick mental calculations.

" _Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang have earned in the free dance… 81.37 points. At a total score of 120.96, they are currently in… second place."_

Second place.

 _Second_ place.

If _they_ were in _second_ place, that could only mean…

Draco was jumping up and down beside her. When she turned to see him, he was beyond ecstatic. Beyond giddy. His eyes were wide and there were actual tears there.

They had done it.

British Champions.

In the ensuing chaos, Snape made his way over to them with hearty pats on the back prepared. Mum and Dad did, too. Even Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy came to find them, and for the first time since Hermione had met them, they looked proud.

The medal ceremony came immediately after, followed by a press conference. Cho and Cedric and Ron and Ginny accompanied them to all these events, each with their own respective medals around their necks.

It was funny, Hermione mused as the Weasley siblings answered questions about their podium placement, they had won gold medals before, but this gold medal in particular felt the grandest of them all.

All through the press conference, Draco kept a steady hand on her knee beneath the table. And although she knew that he did it to keep himself calm—he had said so before—Hermione couldn't help but feel shivers radiate from where his palm touched her skin.

He had kissed her.

Well, sort of.

What did that mean?

Surely, it had to mean something.

"Draco and Hermione, first of all, congratulations to the two of you on a stunning win today." A reporter from the front row was speaking from the edge of her seat, her pen poised to scratch away on her notepad.

"Thank you so much," Hermione heard herself say into the microphone.

As was their agreement, Draco took the lead in the interview. He answered questions about their routine, their training, and their excitement about the Junior Grand Prix next month.

Hermione tried to listen with rapt attention, but she continued to find the hand on her knee incredibly distracting. It wasn't until one reporter with bright blond hair and particularly long nails asked a question that Hermione was able to clear her mind.

"You two seem to have a unique dynamic. Can you tell us a little bit about what it's like to have each other as skating partners?"

Draco turned his head briefly and shot Hermione a grin.

"Hermione is… she's my best friend. Like a sister. Closer, even. When we skate, it's almost like we're the same person skating in two different bodies."

"What about you, Hermione?"

Hermione tried to push the words _like a sister_ from her mind as she gave an answer.

"Draco—he is always determined. He has a drive to do well like I've never seen before. But he always makes me laugh, too. And I think that's maybe why we get along so well."

She deliberately left out the parts of their relationship where they cried in front of each other and shared a bed sometimes.

After the photographers took their final photographs and cleared out, they said their final good-byes to their fellow medalists. Snape had a few brief words for them about Junior Grand Prix training, but then they were left to pack up. On the walk back to their dressing and warm-up room, Hermione couldn't help but feel a new sort of trepidation whenever her eyes met Draco's.

Every inch of Hermione's skin felt itchy. Her heart tapped a rapid staccato against the inside of her chest.

He had kissed her.

He had also said that she was like a sister.

Why had he kissed her, then?

She thought back to the moment they had finished their skate. It had been momentous. Emotional. Triumphant.

The roar of the crowd and the flash of cameras stood out in her memory.

Had that been it, then? The cameras?

Draco was good at putting on a show…

If that was all this was— _a show_ —Hermione knew she would have to brace herself. Because soon, Mr. Malfoy's harsh words might not be enough of a deterrent anymore.

Soon, she might find that she truly fancied Draco Malfoy.

And if he only kissed her for the cameras…

She was headed for certain heartbreak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dunnnnnnnnn
> 
> *waggles eyebrows into the sunset* 
> 
> The Subtle Perfection playlist has been updated in Spotify. 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21UNgzUJE0kSX0VDNnJk6V?si=yUuxdRk4RtSm48GE1kcepg


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between seasons, Draco and Hermione tackle a big interview.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your love for this story continues to astound me! I am flabbergasted every week when I post. It makes my heart so happy that you are so invested in these two goobers.
> 
> The good news is that I've officially finish rough drafts for all of The Gift of Life, so I can focus on writing this story now!
> 
> Enjoy this chapter, brought to you with the help of Graceful Lioness!
> 
> (Also, please notice the new Idiots To Lovers tag)
> 
> In this chapter, Draco is 14 and Hermione is 15.

**March 2005**

In retrospect, Draco supposed that they shouldn't have expected to ride on momentum alone to place in the Jr. Grand Prix semi-finals.

The December competition in France had come and gone, and while they didn't do _horribly,_ exactly, eighth place wasn't going to win them a ticket to the Grand Prix final competition in Japan.

He and Hermione had sat side-by-side on the plane back to Heathrow, neither saying much. Dr. Granger, of course, offered the occasional attempt to cheer them up, often to no avail. Eventually, Hermione snapped at her dad, telling him to, "Please just let us soak in our misery for a while, okay?"

That had done the job. Dr. Granger leaned back in his airplane seat and hadn't bothered them the rest of the flight.

Still, Draco supposed that overzealous cheering up was better than the alternative. His own parents had given him one of their most notable dressings down to date, critiquing nearly every aspect of their season's best skate. Mother repeatedly reminded Draco of the importance of details and Father… Well, Father never had anything good to say, anyway.

"Eighth place," he had sniffed with the air of someone who stepped in something particularly nasty. " _What an embarrassment."_

Draco wallowed in his room at the manor for days after returning home.

Eighth place. All that excitement over a national gold medal and they hadn't even come close to the podium. At all.

What was the point, then?

Draco eyed the shiny new medal hanging on a hook by his bed with a wistful eye. The moment he and Hermione shared on the ice that day… the moment they realized that they were the champions, it was a feeling Draco couldn't get out of his head. It had been beyond the greatest joy. It was perfect.

Everything else that had followed just felt like a let down.

He and Hermione were set to start training for the new season next month in April. They would move back up to Sheffield, back to their dormitories. Back to their early mornings and intense training sessions, and _God_ , Draco couldn't wait. The sooner he could get out of the Manor, the better.

He missed training his body until he could hardly move.

He missed feeling hopeful and knowing they were working toward something.

Most of all, he missed Hermione.

Draco had made a few attempts to call her in the last few weeks, but every time he tried to call her mobile phone, she didn't pick up. Sometimes it rang endlessly until he gave up and other times it went straight to Hermione's perky outgoing message. Either way, every single call so far had ended with him pressing the red 'end call' button on the bottom half of his flip phone.

A pit had started to grow in his stomach whenever he tried to imagine why she wasn't talking to him. Was she just as disappointed as he was about their loss in the Grand Prix? Did he blame her? Was she finally getting tired of his family's bullshit?

Negative thoughts swirled in his mind for hours on end as he tried to contemplate what could possibly make her ignore him like this. Nothing about their relationship had changed recently as far as he could remember.

And when his brain was stretched to its limits, all he was left with was a single fact: he just missed her.

He missed the way she always seemed to be able to read his emotions.

He missed the feeling of her hand in his as they skated around the rink.

He missed cracking jokes behind Snape's back, trying to get her to laugh.

He missed sleeping in a bed with her, feeling her body pressed up against his.

Draco decided shortly after his return to the Manor that this might be one of the things he missed the most about Hermione. Sleeping all alone in his massive king-size bed just didn't feel as comfortable as it used to. Only a year ago, he had loved to stretch out when he slept, freely taking up as much room as was physically possible.

Now… was it possible to miss the smallest mattress he had ever slept on? To miss sharing that impossibly small mattress with another person?

Granted, one particular aspect of having a bed fully to himself made him glad to be staying at the Manor: there was something to be said about being able to enjoy a leisurely morning wank in bed without having to rush off to the bathroom first thing after opening his eyes. Yes, that part of living at home for a while was nice.

But that was probably the only nice thing about it.

Draco snickered as he lounged about on his bed on a late afternoon in March, thinking of how many times he had to excuse himself to _take care of business_ , as he so often put it to Hermione. He had no idea if she knew what was going on when he made a mad dash for the bathroom on mornings like that. Perhaps she just thought he had a tiny bladder.

He wouldn't know. They had never discussed it.

By the time he returned to her, she was always awake, her hair up and ready for an early morning skate.

It was a bit of a shame, really, that she never skated with her hair down. Draco liked her hair when it was all fanned out behind her, smelling of her floral shampoo. He'd buried his nose in her hair while they slept on more than one occasion.

It was slowly becoming his favourite scent. So much so that he had actually asked Hermione to wear her hair down during performances sometime.

She shut that down immediately.

"Do you want me to skate straight into you?" she had demanded in a tone that suggested he was even crazy for bringing it up. "My hair will fly right in my face—into my eyes and mouth— _no_ , absolutely not."

Not even his pouting face made her change her mind.

Draco sighed. He hadn't seen Hermione in nearly a month. It was odd to think that she was now such an essential part of who he was. Who he still intended to be.

A glance to the medal hanging by his bed set a new resolve inside his chest.

This new season would be their best yet.

A knock on the door woke Draco from an afternoon nap he hadn't intended to take. He must have drifted off amidst his off-season boredom.

"Come in," he called as he sat up, his voice slightly heavy and scratchy.

The door swung open to reveal Dobbs. The older gentleman passed through the doorway to his bedside. Draco wiped the corners of his mouth, feeling the impressions of his wrinkled sheets on his skin.

"Yes, what is it?" He stifled a yawn.

"Master Draco, I am here to remind you of your pending interview tomorrow afternoon with Miss Granger."

_Interview…? Oh!_

That's right.

He would be seeing Hermione tomorrow.

The thought made excitement bubble up inside of him, returning life to the corners of his body that had grown lazy with disuse.

Draco nodded, trying to make himself still look sleepy, as though the reminder hadn't fazed him at all. In reality, his heart sped up and his eyes threatened to widen considerably if he didn't watch himself.

"Right." He coughed slightly, trying to hide the grin that nearly split his face. "Very good. I will be ready to depart the house at… what time would you recommend, Dobbs?"

"Well, sir, the interview will take place at Lee Valley Ice Centre at four o'clock. I would recommend departing here around two o'clock. The producer at the television station said you might need to have hair and make-up done, and he said that might take time."

"And will… erm… will the Grangers be picking me up?"

Dobbs shook his head. "No, sir. I will be taking you."

Draco felt his heart sink a little. This fact seemed to confirm that Hermione was upset with him about… he still had no idea. She and her dad had always taken him to their old rink.

"Ready at two o'clock?" Draco glanced at the digital alarm clock beside his bed. Adding on travel time, that gave him only… twenty-one hours until he would see Hermione again.

His stomach churned, his excitement betraying him as it morphed into anxiety.

What if she was actually mad at him? What if she ignored him or worse, started criticizing him like his parents did?

The thought made the churning in his stomach threaten to rise in his throat.

Draco spent the rest of the afternoon on his bed, practically paralyzed, imagining all the worst-case scenarios for the next day.

Two o'clock the next day rolled around, and Draco found himself pacing by the front door, his skate bag over one shoulder, the hand of his other arm shoved in a pocket. There were slight bags under his eyes. He had seen them in the mirror that morning after a long night of fitful rest; most of his time in bed had been spent trying to wrack his brain to figure out what to say to Hermione when they saw each other. How to apologise for whatever he did that upset her.

He had found it especially difficult, considering he wasn't exactly the apologising type.

All the way to the rink, Draco sat in the back of the Malfoy family towne car, his hands fidgeting as he ran phrases over in his mind.

_I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry._

_Please don't abandon our skate team._

_I'm sorry I'm such a terrible disappointment of a skating partner._

None of them sounded right.

By the time they pulled up to the familiar rink, Draco's entire body was alight with nerves. Even from his vantage point in the back seat of the car, he could see Hermione and her parents standing outside of the rink, speaking jovially to a man carrying a camera over his shoulder.

What would Hermione do when she saw him?

Would she put on a show for the cameras?

Draco somehow doubted this. Hermione had never been good in front of cameras. She always looked too stiff, as though she wasn't entirely sure what to do with her body.

If it was him… if he was the one who was mad, he might use his skills in front of the camera to blackmail the target of his anger—might threaten to ruin the interview or turn the interview on his weaker partner.

But he wasn't mad.

And even if he _was_ mad, he couldn't quite bring himself to imagine doing that sort of thing to Hermione.

His nerves peaked as he climbed out of the car and walked toward the rink. His stomach twisted and his feet and hands felt numb. This was the moment he was afraid of. The moment that he had been both dreading and anticipating since yesterday.

Draco stepped up onto the sidewalk in front of the rink. The cameraman saw him first; his eyes lit up in recognition.

"Ah, you must be… Draco?"

Time froze for one critical moment as the Granger family processed his words.

Hermione turned first. Draco fought the urge to clamp his eyes shut.

Hermione's brown eyes met his grey ones, and she...

She smiled.

She smiled wide, teeth showing, a faint flush on her cheeks.

"Draco!"

She turned on her heel and rushed at him, arms stretched wide.

Before he could really wrap his mind around the fact that Hermione _wasn't_ mad at him—that she was happy to see him—her arms were around his neck and she was practically crushing his body against hers.

Though his mind was still playing catch up, it didn't seem like his body needed to do this same. He reacted on instinct, his own arms wrapping around her, pulling her entirely against him.

But… When had she gotten so short?

Instead of coming up his exact height like she always had before, she now only reached his chin. The side of her face, which had only ever rested on his shoulder when they hugged, now pressed fiercely against his chest.

There were a million things he could have said in that moment, most of them starting with "I missed you," but Draco found that the moment he had an armful of Hermione once more, his mind had begun to short circuit.

Instead, his genius brain popped out this charming sentiment:

"How's it going, short stuff?"

He could have dropped dead right then.

Hermione pulled away, seemingly unfazed. "Hey now. You're the one who's shot up like a weed. I mean, look at you! We're going to have to readjust all our lifts this year."

At this, Draco groaned. "Ugh, I didn't even think of that."

It was like they were in their own little world again. Like those weeks without talking had never happened. Draco was in heaven. All the worries that had nagged him since returning to the manor flew away on the early Spring breeze.

Hermione wasn't mad.

Being with her again wasn't strange or awkward.

Being with her again was simply… magical.

"You kids ready to head inside?" Hermione's dad called from a few metres away. "I think they'll want to get started soon. This poor bloke's had a camera on his shoulder for ten minutes and I'm sure he's sore."

Hermione grimaced. "Yes! Coming!"

She turned on her heel and Draco followed her.

The two of them would be conducting the interview out on the rink in their training gear. It turned out that this wasn't just a local fluff piece like they had done countless times before, but instead, for the BBC. That much had been apparent from the moment Draco stepped through the automatic sliding double doors.

His heart jumped and he rounded on Hermione.

"The… the BBC? We're being interviewed by the actual BBC?"

She goggled at him.

"Are you… did you not read the full interview request?"

Draco shook his head with vigor. "No. My parents told me they would take care of the press for me. I'm only here because Dobbs reminded me yesterday."

Hermione's brow furrowed, and Draco could understand why.

Normally, it was Draco who was far more focused on their career—who would be the one scoffing if Hermione hadn't bothered to prepare properly for an interview.

But then again, she was _Hermione,_ and she was always prepared.

"Are you—" she faltered for a moment. "Do you want me to take the lead on this interview?"

Draco shot a glance at the BBC team that was setting up for the interview on the ice. There was no way he was going to lose his nerve during something this important. They may have come in eighth place at the qualifying rounds for the Junior Grand Prix, but they still had publicity on their side.

Perhaps if this interview went well enough, he might be at least partially forgiven for what Father had described as "an international embarrassment."

Draco turned back to Hermione. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. "That's okay. But we should both talk, I think. If you feel comfortable, that is."

He watched as Hermione's eyes also traveled to the ice. She winced. "I think I'll be fine. There's only one reporter here. It'll be easier for me to feel confident in a smaller interview like this." The way that her voice wavered slightly made Draco's heart clench a bit. He gave her shoulder a squeeze and offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

In an instant, a blush bloomed up her neck, spreading all the way to her ears.

Before Draco could think of anything else to say, Dr. Granger bustled over and ushered them to the make-up artist.

The interview went remarkably well, considering Draco had less than an hour to mentally brace himself to say words that would be televised nationally. He had almost been thrown off when, five minutes into the interview, his parents appeared out of the corner of his eye. They must have slipped through the sliding glass doors of the rink when he wasn't looking. He had paused in the middle of explaining the concept behind this past season's free dance, his eyes darting to the spot behind the camera where they were sitting a few feet apart from Hermione's parents.

But then Hermione reached over and squeezed his hand, and he continued with his answer.

As the interview began its conclusion, he didn't think he had done too badly, all in all.

The reporter, a man in his forties, had asked them an exhaustive list of questions about their training regimen, about how they started training together, about their goals as an ice dancing pair…

The usual questions, essentially.

Draco answered many of the questions with practiced ease. Hermione chimed in a few times as well, and he noticed with some sense of relief that she seemed relaxed in front of the camera this time.

"Okay, one last question," the reporter said as he flipped to another page of the notepad he had on his clipboard.

Draco straightened his back.

"Despite your age, it's obvious that the two of you are very close, almost as if you've been skating together for much longer than four years." The reporter paused for a moment before continuing. "We know you two train together nearly constantly and we see at competitions how close you are.."

This was going to be a "what's your relationship like?" question. Draco prepared the answer he had given so many times before.

Hermione was his best friend. Like his sister.

The public loved that sort of thing.

The reporter kept talking. "It seems that your close relationship and your talents have garnered quite a following online. Have you seen these?"

The reporter held out a short stack of stapled papers, and Hermione reached forward to accept it. Draco watched as her eyes traveled across the top page. As she did, her face lit up in a smile, her blush returning slightly.

"Oh, yes! I've seen these."

She passed the stack to Draco. He squinted for a moment, trying to get a sense of what he was looking at as Hermione pressed on.

"They always make me laugh when I think about them. I mean, it's funny to think that we have actual fans, but to think that they're doing this…"

With Hermione's words swirling past his ears, Draco saw exactly what she was talking about. The reporter had printed out what looked like pages from an internet forum. On the forum, anonymous people were talking about their skating.

_They r the best! I saw them skate the championships and their skating is awesome!_

_**Did u c the way they held hands the WHOLE time? I bet theyre dating** _

_They need a cute couple name like Brangelina or TomKat!_

_**HermCo?** _

_DraHer?_

_**DraMione?** _

Draco felt his own cheeks grow hot at the insinuation of what these people were writing. Was there actually speculation out there that he and Hermione were… _dating?_

"What about you, Draco?" The reporter's voice swam back into focus. "Have you seen these before?"

Draco passed the offending papers back to the reporter. "Uh, no. I haven't, actually. I had no idea—" He cleared his throat, now positive that his whole face was the colour of a tomato. "I had no idea that people were thinking those sorts of things about us."

The reporter offered an amusing grin, his brows raised. "So then, care to clear up the rumors?"

Hermione leaned forward slightly and opened her mouth as if poised to answer. Draco cut her off.

"We are definitely not dating," Draco spoke firmly as he tried to clarify. "Our job requires us to be very physically close, but that doesn't mean we're dating. I mean—" he glanced over at Hermione. "I love Hermione. She's my best friend. Like my sister, even. But no, she's not… we're not…"

He finished his answer lamely.

The reporter seemed to get the idea.

"Right. Apologies if I made either of you uncomfortable with that last one. But the people wanted to know, and now hopefully, you've given them an answer."

Hermione and Draco waited just off the ice as the camera crew cleared off the ice. They were supposed to perform their free dance from last season for the programme, but as they watched the last of the chairs being carried away, Draco felt a twinge of nerves in his stomach. He looked to Hermione.

"Have you… been out on the ice much since December?"

Hermione shrugged, leaning on the barrier. "A bit I suppose. Two or three times a week just to keep myself limber. You?"

Draco grimaced. "Only a couple times. I—" He paused, considering how much of his anxieties from the past few weeks he felt like revealing. The idea of Hermione knowing how much his parents' words still got to him was more than embarrassing. It was mortifying. "—I just didn't have time, is all," he lied.

"Well—" Hermione scooted closer, elbowing him slightly in the ribs. "Just don't drop me, okay?"

The edge of his mouth twitched. "Okay. I think I can manage that, at least."

Their skate to Frank Sinatra's song went smoothly enough, and Draco spent nearly every second thanking every power in the universe for muscle memory. By the time the cameras stopped rolling, Draco felt blood pumping through his veins for the first time since he had stepped off the ice back in December. He felt alive, _no,_ better than alive. He felt amazing. Incredible. Breathless.

Eighth place be damned. _This_ was why he skated.

He and Hermione went around shaking hands as the entire BBC crew packed up their things. The reporter informed them that the segment would air later that week and that he would reach out when he could confirm the exact time.

And then it was done.

Hermione and Draco sat on the edge of the rink, pulling their skates off as their parents made their way down from the stands.

Hermione's Dad spoke first, a wide grin on his face. "The BBC! Can you believe it? We're so proud of you two." He hugged Hermione and clapped Draco on the back. "Quite an accomplishment, eh, Lucius?"

Father raised an eyebrow. Unlike Hermione's dad, his tone remained flat, his eyes dull. "I suppose it could be considered an achievement. Going on the BBC should boost their overall exposure to the public." He turned to face Draco, leaning on the diamond and emerald-studded cane he carried around for show. "However, should they face another disappointing season like the last, I can't see the BBC continuing their interest."

As Father's words traveled through the frigid air inside the rink, all the anxiety that had melted away from skating resurfaced, clawing its way back up his body inch by inch. The warmth in his chest had solidified into a cold weight in his stomach. The smile that had graced his face after their skate evaporated.

The adults must have continued to talk, because when Draco's ears started working properly again, Hermione's dad sounded a bit indignant.

"—don't honestly believe that, do you Lucius? The kids have been working their tails off night and day and they won the national championships, didn't they? And at their age, that's pretty incredible."

"One man's _incredible_ is another man's _expectation_. Draco—" Draco's head snapped up, his vision honing in the cold eyes of his father. "It's time to leave."

Draco opened his mouth to say, "Yes, sir," but for some reason, all the muscles in his throat had frozen. Cheeks burning, eyes stinging, Draco barely managed to get the word, "Bathroom," out before he turned on his heel and hurried toward the changing rooms.

Hot shame bled through his body as he shoved the door to the men's locker room open and leaned against the blank expanse of wall just inside. He was used to hearing those sorts of things from Father—he'd been hearing them all his life. But to have Father say them in front of Hermione? In front of her parents? It was beyond mortifying. He wanted to cry, to scream, to break something.

Why did this sport bring him both the greatest joy and the worst sense of defeat?

A knock on the door brought him out of his spiral. Draco wiped the tears that had streaked across his cheeks. "What?" he spat. He just wanted to be left alone. Couldn't anyone read between the lines?

"Um, Draco?"

A soft voice called to him from the other side of the locker room door.

_Hermione._

He cleared his throat, trying to mask the fact that he had cried. "What is it?" His voice came out as a croak.

From the other side of the door, her voice was small, hesitant. "Are you, um, okay?"

Draco opened his mouth to give an affirmative answer, but a loud sniff came out instead. He cursed inwardly as the sound echoed around the empty locker room. Though he prayed that Hermione didn't hear it, not even five seconds later he heard her say, "I'm coming in," before she pushed the door open.

Maybe it should have been strange, seeing Hermione in the men's locker room. At the moment, Draco wasn't exactly thinking that far ahead. The only thing on his mind was the expression she wore on her face. It was something like pity, but not quite. Draco's stomach churned. If there was one thing he hated more than Father's insults, it was pity.

Draco turned his back to Hermione, wiping his cheeks with his sleeves while his face was obscured.

Not that it mattered. She had seen his blotchy, tear-stained cheeks already.

"What do you want, Hermione? You're not supposed to be in here."

He expected soft words in return. Perhaps a hand touching his shoulder. But that wasn't what he got.

Instead, he heard a sharp scoff.

"Seriously, Draco? This entire building is empty. Who else would be in here?"

He imagined her to be standing with her hands on her hips, a scowl painting her face. Turning his head just so, he saw that his imagination was spot on.

"Just… can you leave me alone?" He wrapped his arms around his middle and walked farther into the locker room.

"No."

Draco froze. "No?"

"No, I don't think I will. I rather like it in here. The lighting gives this place a nice ambiance."

Draco's eyes drifted over the long, fluorescent bulbs hanging from the ceiling.

Hermione moved closer to him before sitting down on a metal bench in front of a row of lockers. She patted the spot next to her, and Draco found himself drawn to her like a magnet. He sank onto the cool metal just two inches from Hermione, their legs almost touching. His shoulders slumped slightly.

"Does your father say things like that to you often?" Her voice became soft once more, as if coaxing the answer from him.

He didn't want pity.

He didn't want to feel shame.

 _But this was Hermione,_ a voice in the back of his head reasoned. _She wouldn't make fun of you or use this information against you. Would she?_

Draco chanced a glance at his friend. Her chocolate eyes shone beneath raised eyebrows, a frown tugging at her lips.

_She's worried about you._

Draco sighed and slumped a little more.

"Yes," he murmured. "All the time. Sometimes he's so critical that it makes me want to give up skating altogether."

He heard Hermione inhale sharply beside him. "Give up skating? But Draco, your dream—"

"—My dream doesn't feel that great lately. Ever since we did so badly at the Grand Prix—"

"Draco, we placed eighth out of twenty-four."

Draco blinked.

"Out of twenty-four teams from all over Europe, we beat out sixteen of them." Hermione tilted her head slightly and placed a hand on his back, which straightened. "Some of those teams had men who were twenty-one years-old, and your lifts were better than theirs. Draco, we're only turning fifteen this year. Do you know how amazing that makes us—makes you?"

Draco felt his ego jump just a bit.

"And this year's an Olympic season. If we practice really hard we could qualify for Torino I think. I doubt we'd win, but to _go_ at fifteen and sixteen? _Bollocks_ to whatever your Father would say, that would be incredible."

Draco couldn't help but to snicker.

"Hermione, did you just say 'bollocks'?"

She straightened up. "And what if I did? Sometimes, the situation calls for a good curse."

"I will pay you twenty pounds right now if you say 'fuck'."

She smacked him on the arm.

"Yeah," he said through a slight grimace. "I deserved that."

"Honestly, Draco. You love skating. It's your dream. And it's my dream, too. We can't let the pressure get to us. What else is going to get us through waking up at four in the morning?"

Draco sighed, turning to face Hermione. "Urgh. I forgot we'll have to do that again soon."

"I'm actually looking forward to it. I actually slept better at the dormitory than I do at home." Hermione's cheeks turned slightly pink, but she didn't stop talking. "I think it's because I miss sleeping in the same bed as you."

Draco felt heat creep up his own cheeks, burning the tips of his ears. "I, um, miss it too."

Hermione coughed. "Oh. Well… good."

They sat very still for a minute. Draco took a strong interest in the pattern of the tiles on the floor. He wasn't quite sure what to make of Hermione's declaration that she liked sleeping in the same bed as him. Did that mean she fancied him? Had she noticed his early morning, erm, _problems?_

Surely not. Otherwise she wouldn't want to be within ten feet of him.

"I, er, have an idea," Hermione said into the cavernous locker room. Draco looked to his right. She sat stiffly beside him, her hands shoved between her knees.

"Oh?"

"What if we stayed here a little later? Kept skating."

"You… want to skate some more? But Snape isn't here."

Hermione shook her head. "We don't need Snape. I just thought it might be good for us to just skate without a plan for once. Just for fun."

Draco raised his eyebrows. Skating… for fun? When was the last time he had done that? It had probably been years. Every memory that popped into his head involved a coach and pre-planned choreography.

What would Father think of that?

 _That it's a waste of time_ , his brain filled in for him. _That there's nothing to gain from it_.

Before he could even open his to respond, Hermione stood up, her face set. She turned on her heel and strode from the locker room, head held high. Draco scrambled to his feet and followed as closely as he could.

She wouldn't—she wouldn't say anything to Father, would she? Panic flooded his body as he pushed the swinging door and re-entered the arena. Hermione was already way ahead of him. There was no way he could catch up to intervene.

The panic turned to dread as he watched her approach both of their parents, who were still loitering by the side of the rink. Draco couldn't quite make out what she was saying, but judging by the wide smile on her face and her gesticulating hands, she wasn't about to reveal that he had melted down.

"—and I was just thinking that we hadn't skated together in a while. We felt a little rusty today and want to just do a little brushing up. What do you say?"

Draco watched as Hermione practically batted her eyes at her parents.

Her dad heaved a sigh and looked at his wife. "I don't have a problem with that. You?"

Hermione's mum shook her head. "I think that sounds like a lovely idea. Lucius? Narcissa?"

To Draco's surprise, it was his mother that spoke up. Father just stood stiff as a board with his lips pressed in a thin line. "Why yes, I do think that you and Draco could do with some brushing up. You've got a big year ahead of you, after all."

Hermione's dad clapped his hands together. "Well, then. It's settled. We'll leave you two to it. The rink is booked for another two hours, so we'll come and pick you up then. Sound good?"

Hermione beamed. "Yes, that sounds lovely. Thank you!"

Draco managed a small wave as the adults, including Dobbs, who had been hanging back, departed through the double glass doors at the main entrance.

And then they were all alone.

The vastness of the empty arena stretched out around them, and Draco was reminded strongly of their late-night escape to the Sheffield rink before championships nearly four months ago.

The two of them changed back into their skates and climbed onto the ice.

It was strange, more than anything, not to have a coach with them. Not to have things they had to practice. Or warm-ups they had to do. Or an agenda at all.

He watched Hermione take a couple of laps around the rink before going into a twizzle spin. There was a smile on her face—a different kind than the one she had shown to their parents just minutes before. That one had been plastered on her cheeks on purpose, but this was something entirely different.

She looked happy, spinning on the ice like this.

She'd always liked spinning.

"Should I put on some music?" Hermione suggested after heading back in his direction.

Draco shrugged. "If you want, go ahead."

Skating over to the edge of the rink, Hermione reached for her duffel bag. She rummaged around for a moment and emerged with a large black zipped case.

"CDs?" Draco skated over to her as she opened the container to reveal dozens of discs.

She nodded. "I always keep them in my bag, just in case." Hermione looked down at the CDs, one hand flipping between sleeves and the other at her mouth, her index finger tapping her lips. "Now let's see here, which one should I—? Ah! This'll be fun!"

She slid the disc out of its plastic sleeve and popped it into the old boombox they used to use when they practiced at this rink.

Hermione pressed play and his ears were filled with one of the peppiest songs he had ever heard.

Draco made a face.

"I haven't heard this song in ages. You still listen to this rubbish?"

Hermione's draw dropped. "S Club 7 is _not_ rubbish!"

She started skating to the blasted song, arms in the air, as apparently directed by the lyrics. A grin spread across her face as she twirled, following simplistic dance moves he could only assume were from the music video.

"Come on!" She called out to him, holding her hands out in his direction.

Draco stepped back, shaking his head vehemently. "Absolutely not."

"Such a spoilsport." Hermione stuck her tongue out at him as she stopped next to him by the edge of the rink. "Well go on, then, if you've got such good taste. Take a look and you pick something fun to skate to." She nodded her head in the direction of the giant black CD case.

Draco followed direction and pulled the case onto the barrier in front of him.

Hermione's CDs were.. Well, frankly, most of them weren't just rubbish. They were _complete and utter_ rubbish.

"Who the hell is Aaron Carter? And why would you have the soundtrack to The Lizzie McGuire Movie?"

Hermione made to snatch the case from his hands, but he held it just out of her reach.

"If you're going to stand there and insult my music collection instead of just picking something, then I'll happily keep my S Club 7 CD in."

Draco scowled at his partner. She returned the look, though he could see the upturn at the corners of her lips.

"Right." He flipped through a few more CDs until the music turned a bit more to his taste. "You have the entire Nutcracker Suite?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I've been in the Nutcracker at least seven times. Two of those times, I played Clara. Of course I have the CD. I used to dream in the Nutcracker Suite."

Raising one eyebrow and smirking, Draco withdrew the CD from its pocket and swapped it into the boombox. As soon as he pressed play, he removed the covers off his blades and climbed over the barrier and onto the ice.

"Ugh. Do we have to?" Hermione groaned as the first sounds of trumpets filled the rink. "I just stopped being sick of this music."

"You said I could choose, didn't you?"

Hermione folded her arms. "...yes."

Draco glided across the ice, the frigid air filling his lungs. This kind of music was really his comfort zone when it came to skating. He had grown up with nearly all of his competition pieces coming from the classical genre. It had only been since Hermione's arrival that he had started skating to anything but Tchaikovsky or Mozart or Vivaldi. And as much as he enjoyed the energy of swing and the tenderness of a foxtrot, nothing quite compared to the graceful swell of a classical piece.

Skating to The Nutcracker Suite was no exception. With no predetermined choreography, Draco simply felt the music course through his body instead. He turned when he felt it appropriate; he jumped when he wanted. This was how he used to skate: alone, in his own world out on the ice. He had loved to skate alone back then, loved to receive all the glory.

Did he still love that?

Draco eyed Hermione. She, too, was in her own little world. Her slim figure moved about the ice in a way he hadn't seen her move in a long while. In the nearly four years they had skated together, he had never seen her attempt ballet on the ice. How long had it been since she had danced in The Nutcracker? Yet here she was, moving confidently, her arms stretched gracefully above her head, her skates pointed beneath her as if she was wearing pointe shoes.

For the second time that afternoon, Draco felt incredibly grateful for muscle memory.

Hermione had grown to be an incredible skater, but it was clear that her roots were still firmly planted in ballet. She had a way of moving her body with such ease that Draco now recognized he would never quite have, no matter how much catch-up he played. It was an odd realization. He had always considered himself to simply be _the best_.

But, he supposed, he could give Hermione this one.

As long as she never found out, of course. He had a reputation to uphold.

The idea sparked as he watched her perform a half-pirouette, half-twizzle.

"Hey, Hermione!" He skated over to her, his cheeks lifted in a smirk. "I bet I could skate to The Nutcracker better than you."

Hermione just rolled her eyes as she came out of her spin. "There's no universe in which you are better at anything related to The Nutcracker than me."

"Oh yeah?" Draco rolled his shoulders in a mock stretch.

"Obviously."

"But I can _skate_ better than you." Draco watched and waited an extra half-second as Hermione's eyes went wide.

"No you can't."

"Um, yes I can."

"That's ridiculous, and you—" Hermione's jaw went slack for a moment, her eyes glassy. "Wait, that's it!"

Draco blinked. He watched, slack-jawed, as Hermione rushed over to the CD case and began to flip through it with fervor. What on earth was she doing? He had only meant to push her buttons a bit. Get her hair to frizz. That was always fun.

He hadn't meant to get her all excited.

After a moment, she pulled out a disc with a victorious, "Aha!" before exchanging it in the boombox. Hermione fiddled with the device for a minute before a woman's brash, southern American accent filled the area.

_Anything you could do, I could do better._

"What is this?" Draco called as a musical exchange between a man and woman began.

"It's _Annie Get Your Gun_. A musical. These two characters are big rivals and they… well, they basically have the exact same argument we're having in a song. I thought… maybe _this_ would be fun to skate to?"

Draco blinked. Hermione wanted to skate to this?

_I can live on bread and cheese._

_And only on that? So can a rat._

Draco snorted. What kind of song was this?

He had to admit, though, it was rather catchy. He found his toe tapping as the two protagonists squabbled.

"Come on, Draco. Let's just—let's just have fun!"

"Well," he said, heaving a sigh. "At least it's better than S Club 7."

Hermione rolled her eyes and tugged him out onto the ice. Like the lyrics directed, they tried to mimic each other. When the woman held a note for a long time, Hermione spun longer than Draco had ever seen. When they sang about singing sweetly, they waltzed across the ice with goofy grins on their faces.

By the time the song had played through a handful of times—Hermione put the song on repeat—they had a little routine mapped out. It wasn't anything technical that would win them any sort of points, but Draco couldn't remember ever smiling so much during skating practice. The song was silly and let them be far more theatrical than they might normally choose to be during a competition.

He particularly enjoyed the fact that he got to pretend to argue with Hermione. And she argued right back. It felt very… _them_. He so rarely got to play himself on the ice. He was always stepping into someone else's shoes to tell stories during their routines. It was usually a person in love or some rot like that, but this song was playful and had the same back-and-forth dynamic they'd had together since they were eleven.

By the time they had danced through the whole thing a few times, Draco was exhausted, but he couldn't erase the grin that held steady on his face. The pit in his stomach had vanished, only to be replaced by a sort of floating sensation.

"That was just so much fun." Hermione smiled at the ground as she unlaced her skates when their two hours were up. "I wish we could perform it some time."

Draco snorted. "I hate to break it to you, but a routine like that would land us in last place. It hardly meets any technical requirements."

"I know that." Hermione tucked her skates into her duffel bag, a slight frown on her face. "I'm just saying—wait!" Her eyes lit up, head snapping to look directly at him. "We could sign up to perform in a gala!"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "You want to perform it as a gala piece? Hermione, when would we have the time or energy to prepare an extra routine?"

Hermione waved him off. "We just did. Besides, gala performances are just for fun. They don't have to be perfect."

He grimaced. She had a point. Skating with her to this song _had_ been fun. But the idea of performing it in front of others made him squirm. It was so silly and unstructured… everything that their normal skating wasn't.

But perhaps that was what made him enjoy it so much.

"We can think about it, okay?" He zipped up his duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Let's get going before they shut the lights off on us."

It didn't occur to him until several hours later as he laid in his bed, slightly sore, that maybe it wasn't skating that made him happiest any more.

Maybe it was Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, this was a super fun chapter to write. I loved imagining them dancing to all these songs.
> 
> Remember, if you want to hear all the songs in this story, check out my updated playlist on Spotify! 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21UNgzUJE0kSX0VDNnJk6V?si=xp_3KpC0TOG5F9loRnsPyg
> 
> Until next week, lovelies!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long week on the ice, our two teenagers decide to have a little fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll... it's been a week. 
> 
> Which is why I'm so glad to be here, where you all, for some strange, magical reason, indulge me and my writing. 
> 
> Love as always goes to Graceful Lioness.
> 
> In this chapter, our precious BBs are 15.

******July 2005**

"Okay, that looked halfway decent, you two. Go ahead and take five."

Hermione's muscles were about to give out as she held herself in place just long enough for Draco to gingerly lower her back onto the ice. They were practicing a brand new lift today, and it was by far the most difficult one they had tried to date. Not only would she have to keep her body perfectly taut as Draco held her above his head, but he also had to rotate her body around his as well. It was like the tree-climbing exercise they had been doing together for years, except she had to give up all control. And giving up control wasn't exactly her strong suit.

"How are you feeling?" Draco asked as they skated over to the edge of the rink. "I wasn't gripping you too hard, was I?"

Hermione's fingers traced over her waist, where his fingers had been digging into her flesh through her practice jacket just seconds ago. "No, you weren't." She shook her head as she stepped over the barrier. "I mean, you have to hold on tight. I'd rather be uncomfortable than have you drop me."

Draco sighed and reached for his water bottle. "Right, well you have to be honest if something hurts, Hermione. Don't just be stubborn about it."

She huffed in mock indignation as she also took a swig from her water bottle. "Well I don't think lifts are meant to be comfortable. When I step on your legs with my skates, are those lifts comfortable?"

Draco winced at the memory. "Not exactly."

"Then don't worry about it. I'll let you know if something is actually painful."

With a look that she hoped projected a sort of finality, Hermione collapsed onto the metal bench and dug in her duffel bag for the travel mug of coffee she packed this morning. It was nearly empty now. She'd been sipping away at every opportunity since they arrived at the rink well before the sunrise. Of course, she refilled it at eleven o'clock before their hip hop lesson, and then again at two when they returned to the rink. Now, only the last couple of centimeters of coffee remained from her third mug, and she needed them desperately.

Tipping the mug back, she downed the brown liquid and prayed it would get her through the last thirty minutes of practice. After that, she didn't really care. Her Friday night would likely consist of a long shower and a movie in bed, and she definitely didn't need caffeine for that.

"You look exhausted." She saw Draco watching her as she set her mug back down.

"Gee, thanks." Hermione stuck her tongue out. "It's like we've been waking up at four in the morning every day or something. Is it bad that I can't wait until winter so I can just sleep?"

Draco gave her a knowing smirk. "So what I'm hearing is that you want to hibernate. Like a bear?"

"A bear? Are you serious?"

Draco placed a finger at his chin. "No, not a bear. Though you've got enough hair for one."

Hermione lifted her ice skate up, the toe pick coming dangerously close to his groin. He relented.

"Okay, okay. I take it back. You're more like… a fox?"

Hermione drew back slightly. "A fox? Explain."

"Well, foxes are damn clever. And a bit tricky." Draco sidled up to Hermione, plopping down on the bench beside her. "But if you look close enough—" He reached out and pinched her cheeks between his thumbs and forefingers. "—they're totally adorable."

Hermione swatted his hands away, though a giggle bubbled up inside of her.

"Draco, you absolute prat."

They chuckled together for a few more moments before Snape called out to them. "All right, you two. Back to work. Let's run it through a couple more times and then we can get out of here."

Both Hermione and Draco groaned simultaneously, but didn't drag their feet. They were back on the ice shortly and in position to begin the lift sequence for their original dance. Their music for this year was a selection of film score music by John Williams, and Hermione was more than a bit excited about it. In years past she had definitely gotten sick of their musical selections at a certain point. If she had to hear _Fly Me To the Moon_ one more time, she might toss her ice skates out the window.

But this year was sure to be one for the books. Not only did she actually love their skating selection, but this was the first year they would get to try for the Olympics. They would be happening just six months from now in Torino, Italy, and every chance she got, she made a wish to be there.

And as much coffee as she went through, it would all be worth it if they qualified.

"Ready, you two?" Snape called from over by the sound booth.

They both gave the thumbs up, and Snape pressed play.

The music started soft and sweet, and they swept across the ice, him forwards, her backwards. Around the edge of the rink they travelled, gaining speed with each second. Three quarters of the way around, the music started to swell—their cue to head into the lift sequence.

She leapt.

Draco caught her by the waist and by the thigh.

It was like second nature these days. She used to be afraid of falling, but Draco always held her steady.

He held her against his torso for a moment before rotating her body up and around his body.

It wasn't until her feet were back on the ice and they transitioned to their next sequence that Hermione realized she had been holding her breath.

The music cut off.

Draco bent over, skating away with his hands on his knees.

"You're too stiff," Snape called. "Hermione, it looks like Draco is twirling a wood plank around him, not a beautiful girl. You need to make the audience feel emotional, not uncomfortable."

Hermione felt the tips of her ears heat up. "Y-yes, sir."

"Again!"

She rolled her shoulders back as she skated toward the starting point once more.

"Was it really that bad?" Hermione asked in a whisper to Draco, her arms draping around his shoulders.

Draco's head shook back and forth just a bit. "Nah. He's just being picky. That's his job, remember?"

Hermione sighed. "Right."

"Ready?" Snape called again. They repeated their thumbs up.

Music filled the rink once more, and they began the sequence. This time, Hermione tried to focus on keeping her body looser—letting the lessons ballet had taught her guide her actions.

By the lift, she was already feeling better about the whole thing. Draco's touch was solid and predictable, and she allowed herself to focus on the position of her arms and feet during the entire sequence. When the music cut off again, she immediately looked over to see the slightest of upturns on Snape's lips.

"Better," he called as he jotted down notes. "You're improving. You too, Mr. Malfoy. Your stance has come a long way. Have you been working on that more?"

Draco nodded beside her. "I've been spending an hour in the gym several times a week, sir."

"Excellent. Keep it up and you'll be doing senior-level lifts in no time." His eyes travelled back down to his notes and waved his hand without looking up. "That is all for today. I'll see you both on Monday, first thing."

Hermione's shoulders slumped with relief as she made her way off the ice. Her dormitory shower was calling her name, and if she was quick about it, she could be standing under the hot water in less than ten minute's time.

Just off the ice, she began to pack away her skates. Draco did the same beside her, and they worked in silence for a minute. He finished first, and then, oddly enough, he stood and removed his shirt, pulling the tight, grey sweat-wicking fabric up and over his head in one swoop.

Hermione's first instinct was to draw away and cover her eyes. "Urgh, Draco. Come on! Save it for the showers."

The next thing she knew, something soft and moist collided with her face. She sputtered, ripping the garment away from her face. Hermione was about to yell at her skating partner about keeping his sweaty shirts to himself, but the moment her eyes flew open, every single word died in her throat.

Draco stood before her looking… different. After four years of swimming together and sharing changing rooms backstage at competitions, she'd seen him without a shirt more times than she could count.

But he had never looked like this before.

Gone was the waifish shape of boyhood that had clung to him all these years. Instead, his body was now well-defined, the muscles clearly visible in his arms... his chest… his stomach…

Hermione gulped. She was sure that she was staring, but her brain didn't seem to be working well enough to make her stop.

Draco was… well, he was _built._ Not that it should surprise her. Hadn't he just been talking to Snape about how he'd been working out more?

Maybe that wasn't what surprised her.

Maybe it was the thin sheen of sweat that stretched over his chest, making him look…

Hermione struggled to find the right word.

Surely he didn't look _delicious_. That couldn't be right, could it?

"Oi, you okay, Hermione?"

She blinked, her eyes snapping up to Draco's face. He was looking down at her, eyebrows raised.

She'd been caught red-handed.

Heat rose in her body. Hermione was sure she had gone completely scarlet.

"I—um, I—"

"Are we still on for tonight?" he asked, squatting down to dig through his bag. After a moment, he pulled out a clean shirt.

"Are we—what?"

God, what was wrong with her? Had the sight of Draco half-naked really turned her into a girl with mush-for-brains?

"You know." Draco stuck his head through the shirt, his arms popping out through the short sleeves. "You, me, your bed, a big load of chocolate and crisps, and a Jurassic Park movie marathon?"

A brief vision of a shirtless Draco lying in her bed wafted through her head, but she shook the thought away as quickly as it came.

"Yes— _yeah_. For sure."

"Good. Because I swear this week nearly killed me and I could use some contraband food."

Now _that_ , Hermione could agree with.

"Honestly, I think we might die before we even get to the Olympics."

Draco snorted. "We can't have that. My father would be so disappointed."

Hermione chose to ignore the obvious reference to Mr. Malfoy's continued pressure and kept the talk light.

"All the more reason to take tonight off and stuff our faces."

Draco showed up at her door at six o'clock on the dot. They'd both showered and choked down the nauseating dinner of chicken and sauteed spinach prepared by the chef the Malfoys hired to "keep their diets matching their goals."

Thank goodness they had both been left with some pocket money.

Draco made the weekly run to the corner shop this time, and when Hermione opened her dormitory door, he held up two plastic bags stuffed to the gills with junk food.

"Thank God," Hermione moaned as she grabbed a Milka bar from the top. She unwrapped it in one stroke, broke off a piece, and tossed it in her mouth. As the milk chocolate melted in her mouth, her lips turned up in a satisfied smile. "I've been waiting for this all week."

Hermione led Draco into her room, though he honestly didn't need much guidance at this point. They had their little routine. Hermione grabbed two paper plates from her closet as Draco opened each of the bags and canisters. They each divvied the snacks out evenly between the two plates and then piled onto Hermione's bed, facing the telly.

Hardly a word passed between the two of them as the movie started, John Williams's music filling the room. It was relatively mindless, sitting here with Draco, stuffing her face and watching people do very stupid things around dinosaurs. After a long week, this was a more-than-welcome reprieve.

She was so relaxed that the memory of Draco's naked torso didn't even cross her mind once.

Well, more than once.

About an hour into the film, Hermione noticed that Draco wasn't exactly paying attention. He was staring up at her ceiling instead, his gaze fixed on one spot as if he were trying to decipher it like a complex puzzle.

Furrowing her eyebrows, she nudged his side. "You okay? You're not watching the movie."

Draco started and sat up. "Sorry. I guess I just can't focus."

Hermione reached for the remote and paused the film. "What're you thinking about?"

Draco sighed. "Just—I dunno. Walking outside after dinner got me thinking about how stir crazy I'm going."

Hermione cocked her head. "Stir crazy?"

"I mean, yeah—" He ran his fingers through his hair before setting his empty paper plate aside and shifting his body toward her, crossing his legs. "We've been bouncing between the rink and different dance studios for months. We don't even go anywhere on weekends. We're so exhausted that we just sleep for two straight days before nearly killing ourselves again the next week."

Hermione frowned. "I mean, isn't that what we signed up for? This is an _Olympic_ year, Draco—"

He shook his head. "You misunderstood me. I'm not upset about training so hard. I just want—" He flexed his fists on his knees. "I just want a break for a little while. Get out of here. Do something different."

"Well, I get that, I guess," Hermione relented. "But what are we going to do about it?"

Draco blinked for a moment before a familiar mischievous twinkle filled his eyes.

Hermione knew that look. It was the same look he used to wear when they used to dare each other as kids—who could do the most spins? Who could hold a headstand the longest?—they used to be so ridiculous together. But every single time they got into mischief, he always had that look in his eye.

"What?" she asked pointedly. "What scheme are you cooking up in that cunning little mind of yours?"

"What if—now hear me out on this, Hermione—what if we snuck out tonight?"

Hermione's eyes went wide with disbelief. "Sneak out? Are you kidding? Do you know how much trouble we'd be in?"

Draco shrugged. "We've done it before."

"Yeah, we snuck into the _rink_. There's a big difference between going there—to a place attached to our dorm—and going somewhere else entirely. What if we get caught? I don't want to even think about how much trouble we'd be in!"

When she had spat out enough words to register her surroundings again, she was shocked to find that Draco didn't seem ruffled at all. Instead, his eyes still sparkled with mischief.

"Cool the panic, Hermione. You don't honestly think that we would be punished that badly? I mean, we're England's best hope for Olympic Gold on the ice. I know it. You know it. Everyone knows it."

"Well, yes, but still—"

"Aren't you even slightly curious about where I suggest we go tonight?"

Hermione drew back slightly, eyes narrowed. "...Maybe?"

Draco smirked. From his pocket, he pulled out a piece of paper that had been folded into a tiny square. Hermione watched as he unfolded it many times until he revealed what was clearly a poster of some sort. Draco offered it to her, and she let her eyes roam over the text.

"Dance competition?" She confirmed. "You want us to go to a dance competition?"

Draco nodded, a grin spreading across his face. "It's a competition night over at the studio where we take ballroom lessons. Anyone can sign up to compete. There's going to be all sorts of people there—old people, kids—I thought it'd be fun."

Hermione read over the details on the poster. Sure enough, the poster described exactly what Draco was talking about. She vaguely recognized it from their Salsa lesson earlier this week. It had been hanging on a bulletin board at the studio.

It sounded fun, but the rule-following part of her practically begged her not to go—not to put her chance on the ice in jeopardy like that.

"Draco, I don't know—"

"Come on."

"You don't even like dancing!"

Draco scoffed. "Says who?"

"Says you! On many occasions since we were eleven."

He just waved his hand as if dismissing the idea entirely. "I've grown to appreciate it."

Hermione let his words wash over her for a moment, her eyes narrowed.

"You just want to win," she accused.

Draco's smirk grew wider. "Exactly. And if we want to win, we've got to make up our minds. The competition starts in an hour."

Hermione leaned her head back against the wall and groaned. She looked around at the scattered remains of confections surrounding them. They'd already eaten their way through more junk food than any reasonable person should consume in an entire week. A glance at the digital clock beside her bed revealed that it was only seven. The movie would last a little less than an hour, and then they would likely settle in for bed. It was the boring, but predictable option. They wouldn't get in trouble, even for sleeping in the same bed. No one would come in and catch them. That was practically a guarantee.

Or…

Hermione dragged her hands over her face. "Fine."

She could practically feel Draco smirking. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I said fine! Let's do it."

Draco pumped his fist in the air. "Ha! Yes, I knew you'd want to!"

Hermione stood and cleared off her bed. If they were going to do this, they were going to do it right. "Okay then, Draco. If you're serious about winning this thing, then we can't show up in pyjamas like this."

Hermione gave his plain shirt and plaid trousers a once over.

"Let's just go in practice clothes," Draco suggested. "It's what we dance in normally. And the poster says we can wear whatever we want—no costume required."

Draco cleaned up his own mess and headed back to his room to change. Hermione tried not to picture his torso as he changed while she slid on her usual stretchy black dance pants and thin, zip-up jacket. She had just enough time to throw on a little make-up before Draco knocked on her door again.

"We've got to go," he said, pointing to his digital watch. "We have to be signed up by 7:45 or we can't participate."

Hermione had meant to put her hair up in its usual bun, but Draco grabbed her by the wrist before she could even grab an elastic. A little anxiety piled up in her stomach at the thought of dancing with her hair down, but she did her best to shove it to the side.

Sneaking out of the dormitory proved easier than they thought. There was no official curfew until nine o'clock, and the security officer just waved and told them to have fun as they clambered down the steps and onto the busy Sheffield sidewalk.

Draco hailed a cab, and after ten minutes of fiddling with her loose hair in the back seat, they arrived at the dance studio. The two of them hurdled up the stairs and came to a halt at the registration table, panting, at seven thirty-five.

"You almost missed the deadline," said Joan, the perky receptionist who usually greeted them before lessons. "So glad you two could join us. It's nice to know there'll be stiff competition tonight, then!"

The dance studio was more crowded than Hermione had ever seen it before. This wasn't surprising, of course, considering they took private lessons. Most classes were communal, taught in large groups. This was especially clear now, with the room filled to the brim with couples. The swelter of summer heat paired with the sheer number of bodies meant that the studio was much hotter than usual. Hermione picked at the collar of her jacket.

"It's stifling in here," she complained as she and Draco found seats near the edge to lay their things down. The moment they stopped, Hermione shed her jacket, leaving her in only the dark tank top underneath.

"I didn't think it'd be this crowded," Draco admitted. "Here, can you pin this on me?" He held up the smooth paper with the number twenty-eight emblazoned on it.

Draco removed his jacket, revealing a grey, tight-fitting shirt, similar to the ones he wore to skate practice. Hermione situated herself behind him and began to carefully attach the number to him. It was an odd sort of task, being forced to stare at the muscles she had been trying to avoid thinking about all evening. Not that she was complaining.

"So it looks like there's a general elimination round first. We'll have to dance to a variety of genres. A judge will tap us out if we don't do well enough." Draco read off the information sheet he grabbed from the registration table. "Sounds easy enough."

Hermione shrugged. "What's next?"

"Choreographed dance. Any ideas?"

Hermione pursed her lips as she stuck the third pin through the fabric of his shirt. "Are there any style limitations? Because our best off-ice dance right now is—"

Draco nodded. "No, it doesn't say anything about that. And I agree with you. We just have to submit music to the DJ before we start."

"Right. Okay. And what if we pass muster there?"

Draco kept reading. "That's it. We'll be rated by a panel of judges and the highest score wins."

Hermione secured the final safety pin. "Oh-kay. Do you want me to go talk to the DJ?"

Draco shifted his shoulders, testing his movement with the paper attached to his back. "Sure, go ahead."

Hermione stood and scoured the room in search of the DJ. The room was so bustling, it was hard to make out anything specific other than the dance floor, itself. Couples were milling about, stretching and chatting. Some were wearing practice clothes like them. Others were dressed to the nines in fancy gowns and suits. Most of them appeared to be adults in their twenties or thirties.

Nerves shot through Hermione. She'd never competed against adults before.

But then again, what had Joan said to them at registration? That ' _it's nice to know there'll be stiff competition tonight'_? What did that mean? That they were among the best here?

That certainly didn't make sense.

Hermione found the DJ after another minute of squinting around the room. She approached the table and informed the man of their song choice for the choreographed dance. He was a bored-looking bloke in his twenties who looked like he would rather be anywhere but in a muggy room full of ballroom dancers on a Friday night. His eyes went a little wide when the song name fell past her lips, but he gave her the thumbs up and she returned to Draco.

Amelia Bones, the main instructor and owner of the studio, swept into the center of the room with a microphone and called out the ten couples in Group A to the center of the room. A glance down at her the paper on Draco's back revealed that they were in Group C—the last group.

Several songs in various genres played as couples waltzed, tangoed, and did the East Coast Swing across the floor. Every once in a while, a judge came through and tapped couples out. By the time the round finished after a few minutes, only half the couples remained.

The same happened for Group B.

By the time Group C was called to the center of the room, Hermione's legs were shaking. The nerves weren't as bad as they normally were for a skating competition, but they didn't want to leave her be, either. Sure, there weren't exactly stakes in tonight's competition, but there was always one voice in her ear, telling her she wasn't good enough.

Well, tonight, Lucius Malfoy could go stuff it. He had no say in _this_ competition at least.

Hermione took her place on the dance floor, her left arm on Draco's shoulder, her right hand placed gently in his.

The swanky sounds of a Frank Sinatra song filled the room first.

Foxtrot.

She and Draco fell into a familiar rhythm. They'd been doing Foxtrot since they were eleven.

 _'_ _Cause it's witchcraft_

_Wicked witchcraft_

_And although I know it's strictly taboo…_

Hermione was certain she was sick of Frank Sinatra, but this was a lovely song. And they'd done enough of this dance that she didn't have to think too hard to respond to Draco's gentle lead.

The next song was a samba. It wasn't a song that Hermione recognized, but she knew the rhythm well enough. They'd started working on Latin dances more this year, and Madam Bones, herself, had made sure to drill them on this dance more times than she could remember.

All around them, couples were being tapped out left and right, but no judge ever approached them. She and Draco really were doing all right, weren't they?

Hermione flashed a grin at Draco as the music changed, and he lit up. They both knew this song. It was a classic, how could they not?

 _In the Mood_ by the Glen Miller Orchestra splashed across the room, and he and Hermione switched into swing dance as easily as gliding on ice. He spun her freely, and like this afternoon, she found that when she relaxed just a bit, she was able to enjoy the dance immensely.

Watching him now, it was amazing how far Draco had come in these past few years. He had been so opposed to dance when they were little. But something had just clicked with him in the last couple years. She wasn't sure if it was the regular hip hop lessons they had been taking with Tonks here in Sheffield, but he had really come out of his shell on the dance floor recently.

He'd have never suggested this competition otherwise. Draco was like that. He liked to stay in his comfort zone when it came to dance and skating. And the fact that something like this was in his wheelhouse now made a little bubble of joy grow in her chest as the final notes of _In The Mood_ played.

No one had tapped them at all. They would be moving on.

"Congratulations to all remaining couples!" Madam Bones spoke into the microphone as Draco clapped her on the back. "You will have ten minutes before the next round begins."

After grabbing some water from the fountain, she and Draco found a slightly quieter corner in the lobby to rehearse their choreographed dance.

"Do you think anyone else will pick something like this?" Hermione asked as they landed the final pose.

Draco shook his head. "No way. I mean, did you hear what songs they picked for the first part? It's all classic stuff."

Sure enough, among the fifteen couples remaining, the first few picked familiar favorites of ballroom dancing.

Couple number 13 danced a foxtrot to _Moonlight Serenade._

Couple number 4 danced a waltz to _The Blue Danube._

Couple number 21 surprised the crowd by dancing a cha cha to _Let's Get Loud._

After each couple finished, the panel of judges held up score cards. A handful of couples did well, but most weren't nearly as polished as Hermione was used to seeing. At the level of competition they saw at Nationals and the Grand Prix, dancing was precise and perfected. It was never a hobby for anyone she usually watched.

A pinch of guilt filled Hermione when she realized that she and Draco were practically professionals, while most of the other couples seemed to treat this as a fun Friday night on the town.

And yet…

They were clearly one of the younger couples, if not the youngest. Some of the dancers were on the younger side, perhaps uni students. Even if the two of them had a bit of a leg up on the competition, they only had four years of social dance experience under their belts. Surely, some of these couples had been dancing for years.

Hermione pushed the guilt out of her system. She wouldn't let herself feel bad about wiping the floor with the competition.

 _"_ _Never apologize for your talent."_

How many times had Dad told her those exact words?

"Next up, we have couple number 28. Will couple number 28 come to the floor?"

Hermione jumped to her feet, her heart suddenly in her throat. Beside her, Draco stood without fuss, holding his hand out to take hers. They made their way to the middle of the room. Hermione felt every eye on them as they approached Madam Bones and her microphone.

She was so used to being in the spotlight at this point. So why was she still so nervous?

"Good evening, you two. It's lovely to see you. Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger, can you tell us your style of dance and song selection?"

Draco accepted the microphone. "We will be dancing a tango to _Caught Up_ by Usher."

A murmur travelled around the room. Of course most people knew the song. It had been on the radio constantly all summer long. She and Draco had been working on a hip hop-tango hybrid dance cover with Tonks for the last few weeks, and it was her favourite dance to practice. Hermione was sure that the other participants were only murmuring because it was more than a little odd to choose that kind of song for a competition like this.

"Very well." It was clear that Madam Bones had no idea what kind of song _Caught Up_ was. Hermione liked to imagine that she thought it might be a crooner song with a title like that. "You may begin."

She took her place in the middle of the floor. Just across from her, Draco stood, shoulders back, an almost feral, smoldering expression on his face.

"Just us," he mouthed, the corner of his mouth turned up.

If this hadn't been so heavily rehearsed, Hermione would have melted a bit.

The music started, and suddenly, there were no other dancers in the room. It was like they were back at the hip hop studio, laughing away an afternoon with Tonks.

Hermione moved confidently in tandem with Draco, her hands rested against his muscles.

How had she not noticed them before today? The feel of his own hand pressed onto the bare skin of her back sent shivers down her body as he lifted her and dipped her.

 _T-A-NGO._ The beat of the song matched a tango rhythm perfectly, and Hermione felt energy course through her body from her feet up.

Although she was only supposed to teach them hip hop, Tonks understood their needs as ice dancers more than any of their other dance instructors. She had a way of explaining dances that made them so tangible… so visceral. Tonks had told them to think of tango as a constant, hot pursuit between the Lead and the Follow.

Each dance needed a story, and the story in this dance was clear: Draco, the Lead, couldn't escape Hermione, the Follow, no matter how hard he tried. It was a unique dance, because, in a way, the Lead actually became the Follow.

Hermione only partially admitted that she liked this dance because for once, she got to be in control.

True to the dance's storyline, Hermione pursued Draco across the dance floor with the intricate footwork of a tango, her hands never far from his body. He responded to her touch, mouthing the lyrics in her ear like he always did. There was an intimacy to their movements, and it wasn't just the feel of the pads of Draco's fingers on her shoulder blades or the way their chests pressed together when she pulled him right to her.

No, the intimacy was much more than that. It was _electric_ , filling the air around them with a buzz so prevalent that Hermione could barely hear the music, save for the thump of the bass that reverberated in her chest.

It was just them. Only. Always.

Hermione was sure that any onlookers might mistake them for boyfriend and girlfriend, but that was part of their appeal, wasn't it?

The song finished and the reverberating bass dissipated from the dance floor. There was a loud smattering of applause and even a couple cheers from the crowd. Hermione looked up at Draco, who held her tightly in his arms as their final pose. They were close—nearly as close as two people could be. Hermione could feel his heart beating against her ear, could feel ten long fingers clutching her tight. He smiled down at her—a secret smile only ever reserved for her.

Her heart fluttered in her chest.

Could he feel it?

Draco untangled Hermione from his arms and they took a bow before facing the panel of judges.

Every judge awarded them 8.5 or higher—the highest scores of the night so far. Elated, they thanked the panel and scurried back to their seats. A few other couples congratulated them, clapping them on the back and shaking hands as they caught their breath. They managed to sit back in their original seats, collapsing next to each other.

As the last few couples performed, Draco kept his hand on her knee.

The fluttering sensation never quite went away.

As the final couple received their scores, it quickly became apparent that no one had scored as high as they had.

"Hermione," Draco had whispered during the last performance, his voice barely able to contain his excitement. "I think we've won."

Her breath quickened, and she felt her head move up and down. Whether her excitement was coming from their victory or the soft pressure of Draco's hand, she couldn't say. "I-I think so too."

Still, when their names were called to come back to the center of the room to collect their prize, Hermione had a hard time believing it. They had _won_. They had actually entered a competition on a whim and won together. Her whole body felt like a livewire as everyone clapped. A photographer knelt before them, and like the practiced couple they were, they automatically fell into one of their choreographed poses.

Except…

For the final shot, Draco leaned in and kissed her cheek.

Hermione felt every inch of her skin go red.

Their prize was a little trophy and a cheque for one hundred pounds. Draco whispered immediately that the money would go directly into their weekend snack fund. But Hermione could hardly pay attention to his words. Not when the imprint of his lips were still on her face.

He had done it again—kissed her in front of a camera.

What did it mean?

The world became a blur of unknown faces shaking her hand and wishing her hearty congratulations. She vaguely remembered packing up her small bag beside Draco, a bead of sweat trickling down her face.

It wasn't until the cool night air hit her skin that Hermione snapped back to reality. Draco hailed a cab as she pulled her jacket back on.

"What time is it?" she asked, stifling a yawn.

"It's nearly ten. We'll have to sneak past security, I think."

The two of them climbed into the back seat of the cab that pulled up, and Draco gave their address to the driver. Though Hermione's brain told her to get some space to think, her body craved the familiar feeling of her friend's warm body whenever she got sleepy.

Her body won out.

She cuddled up to Draco in the backseat, fully aware that her racing mind was doing her no favours when his arm draped around her shoulders. But the warmth and mold of his body against hers was familiar, and she found herself getting sleepy. It shouldn't have come as a surprise, of course. They'd both been awake since four, after all.

"Tonight was really fun. Thanks for suggesting it," she mumbled into his shoulder, drawing her knees up to her chest.

"What I'm hearing is that I was right."

Hermione chuckled, her lips turning into him even more. "Yes, Draco. You were right. Enjoy it while it lasts."

Draco chuckled, the puff of air escaping his lips brushing a few strands of hair across her forehead. "I will, Hermione. I will."

The world around her became fuzzy once more, and her eyes drifted closed. The last thing she recalled before everything faded was the feeling of lips on her cheek once more.

"Hermione, wake up."

Her whole body felt heavy and warm as light and color filtered into her vision once more. Her head was leaning on something solid, though her neck sat at a bit of an odd angle.

That something was Draco's chest. The warmth in her cheeks grew as she lightly pawed at her face, praying that she hadn't drooled on him. "Was I asleep?" she asked him, determinedly looking out the window.

"Out like a light."

Hermione could hear the smile in his voice. She turned back to face him, stretching, just as the dormitory came into view.

"Think we'll make it up without getting caught?" Hermione wondered. She eyed all the windows with lights off, the occupants clearly asleep.

"Well—" Draco checked his watch. "—it's almost ten-thirty. The only person awake should be the security officer, and he patrols the building. If we can avoid him, I think we're in the clear." He gathered his bag on his lap and prepared to pay the driver. "But just so you know, if you make any noise, I'm running. It'll be every man for himself."

Hermione couldn't quite tell if Draco was joking or not as he passed on a credit card.

They thanked the driver and walked up the steps, Draco first. He swiped his ID badge to unlock the glass door and they stepped inside. Hermione expected to find an empty lobby, still and calm.

Instead, they were met with none other than Snape.

He looked livid. His arms were folded and his narrowed, beady eyes stared down from what felt like high above them. Hermione suddenly felt very small. Beside her, she felt Draco shrink.

"Well, well. Decided to come back from your nighttime wanderings, have we?"

"Sir, we—" Hermione began.

"I do not wish to hear excuses. Imagine my surprise when I asked security to fetch my trainees for ice cream, only to find them missing. You have broken curfew, which is set strictly at nine o'clock. And not only did you break curfew—you did not inform anyone of your whereabouts. For all we knew, you could have been dead."

Guilt squirmed in Hermione's stomach.

"Can you imagine the news story? Because I can picture it vividly." Snape sneered at them down his long nose. "Two bright, promising skating stars found in a ditch somewhere. And it was all their fault for sneaking out. I should have you removed from this training program at once and sent back to your homes where someone can keep an eye on you at all times."

Hermione saw Dad's disappointment in her mind's eye. She could see his sad expression, hear his admission that, _"_ _perhaps we were wrong about you."_ The guilt turned solid, sinking lower and lower with each passing second. A glance beside her revealed that Draco looked terrified. He stared at Snape, eyes wide, lip trembling.

Hermione knew only one person who could bring that level of terror out in Draco. And he was the exact person who Snape would be handing him over to if they were sent back to London to train.

"Judging by your reactions," Snape continued, "neither of you wants to go home. I understand that you are young and reckless. I have no interest in knowing what activities you partook in as a part of this outing. But I must say—" he gave a cruel smirk. "—that I am feeling particularly generous this evening. I will not be sending you back to London, so close your mouth before you swallow a fly, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco's mouth snapped shut.

"I do, however, believe that punishment is necessary to deter this kind of behavior in the future, don't you agree?"

Hermione forced herself to nod, despite feeling as though she was completely rooted to the spot.

"Tomorrow, you will not get to sleep in. Instead, you will spend the entire morning running training exercises. You will know the meaning of tired by the time we are finished, and I should hope that it will drain you enough that you will not want to miss another full weekend again. Now, I will expect to see you at the rink by five a.m. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," Hermione mumbled. Draco echoed her.

"Good. Now get out of my sight and sleep while you can."

They didn't need telling twice. Hermione and Draco scrambled through the lobby and up the stairs to the hallway where their dormitory rooms sat. Just in front of his door, they paused. Hermione wanted nothing more than to go inside and fall asleep against Draco. He had kissed her on the cheek again, hadn't he? Away from the cameras—away from everyone else. It was all a little fuzzy, but she was fairly certain it had happened. She desperately wanted him to kiss her again.

But circumstances being what they were, the thought of anyone catching them tonight would only be adding fuel to the fire. Hermione shuddered to think what would happen if they got in trouble twice back-to-back.

Draco seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because he shuffled his feet in the hallway, his eyes darting to his door.

When his eyes met hers, he—that was odd— _blushed._

Hermione cleared her throat. "Tonight was fun. Even if we did get busted. Thanks, Draco."

"Hermione Granger, are you telling me that you don't mind getting in trouble? What's happened to you?"

She shoved his shoulder. His blush faced as a grin spread across his face.

"D'you think we should sleep separately tonight?" Hermione mused, not bothering to stop herself from gazing longingly at his door.

Draco shrugged. "Maybe. I mean, there's no way Snape'll come up to the dorms. He doesn't have access. But still… maybe just tonight?"

With a nod, Hermione rearranged her bag on her shoulder. She felt the trophy that was buried inside dig into her side a bit.

"We make a good team, don't we?" she mused.

"Are you just now figuring that out?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, no. Of course not. I'm just saying—I'm really excited to see where we go this year. Maybe this dance competition was an omen of the good things to come."

Draco scoffed. "Yeah. Maybe. But so could the grueling practice we're going to have to endure tomorrow morning."

They both made faces.

"Well, I guess I should go, then." Hermione paused, trying to gather the courage to do something bold, and possibly very stupid.

"Yeah. Goodnight, Hermione. See you before the sun's up."

Draco turned to head into his room, but Hermione caught him by the wrist first. She leaned forward and pressed her own lips into his cheek.

It was smooth and warm against her lips.

Before he had time to react, Hermione mumbled a hurried, "Goodnight," and barrelled down the hall to her room, where she could bury her head under her pillow until it was absolutely necessary to emerge at four o'clock tomorrow morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had SO much fun imagining this dance competition. 
> 
> To hear the songs from this week, head over to the Spotify playlist. 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21UNgzUJE0kSX0VDNnJk6V?si=HPKqLU3AQ9ifg9J59q05Zg
> 
> And for the record, Caught Up by Usher is the perfect rhythm for a tango. 
> 
> Until next week, lovelies!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for another big competition, but this time, the stakes are much higher. Draco and Hermione's first shot at the Olympics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a shorter chapter this week, but I hope you all still enjoy it! 
> 
> The piano piece mentioned in this chapter is especially close to my heart. I performed it as a competition piece on piano many, many years ago when I was 14. To hear it, hop on over to the Spotify playlist (https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21UNgzUJE0kSX0VDNnJk6V?si=yJor26nESxSIkewzQcnuuw) or look it up. It is quite the piece! 
> 
> Welcome back to Flangst On Ice (aka Subtle Perfection)
> 
> Love to Graceful Lioness as always.

**November 2005**

Hermione double checked the knots on her laces. They were nice and tight. She stood, balancing on her blade covers. Beside her, Draco performed his usual pre-skate jumps.

Despite the sheer weight of the moment, Hermione didn't feel nauseous. It was almost a miracle.

Granted, she had already vomited twice that morning, so it really was more like there wasn't anything else she could throw up, anyway. But she was glad that she had the opportunity to rid herself of her nerves. She couldn't be nervous out on the ice today. It wasn't an option.

This was about to be the skate that would determine their entrance into the 2006 Olympics.

They had to do well.

They had to be in top form.

They had to make the Olympics at the very least. Podium be damned. To just _be_ on the ice in Italy at age sixteen would be a dream come true.

But she couldn't get too ahead of herself.

Draco finished his jumps, and Hermione walked up to him, wrapping her arms around him like they had done countless times before. Except recently, her ear had begun to rest just above his heart. The damn boy grew like a weed. He'd been refitted for his skating costume in September because he shot up an inch between the initial measurements and the final fitting.

Draco rested his chin on top of her head as they hugged, their breath synching in their usual pre-skate ritual. Normally, Hermione was able to match her breathing to Draco's heartbeat, but today, it was beating so furiously in his chest that she'd have hyperventilated if she tried to keep up.

"Are you okay?" she whispered as she heard the preceding couple head to the Kiss and Cry Station. Above her, she felt Draco's chin move from her forehead to the back of her head. A nod.

"Yeah, just a bit nervous."

"Don't be. We've been doing really well this season. I think we've got this."

"You think?" Draco pulled back, the imitation of a smirk on his lips.

"I mean, I can't see the future, but—" She bit her lip. "—I like our chances."

Draco pulled her to his chest again. "Besides," he murmured into her hair. "It's just us out there, right?"

"Just us."

Hermione felt a soft pressure on her temple, and knew that he had pressed his lips there. It was something new that had sort of fallen into their pre-skate routine by accident. Ever since their little late-night escapade this past summer, light kisses on the cheek or forehead had become a regular thing. Hermione no longer turned scarlet from her head to her toes whenever they happened—thank goodness. Instead, her heart just skipped a beat quietly inside her chest.

There was never any sort of conversation about the state of their partnership… their friendship. What it was morphing into. If it was morphing into anything. Hermione might have been bold in many respects, but that was one conversation she was terrified to have. Because she wasn't even sure what it was she was feeling. Was it a mere infatuation? Or perhaps strong friendship with a bit of attraction?

Because Draco was attractive. There was no way around that. He had really started bulking up in the last year, and something as simple as a hug had started doing… _things_ to her. Things that mortified her just thinking about them.

But now wasn't the time to be thinking about that sort of thing. Now was a time to focus. Focus on winning. Focus on reaching another step toward their ultimate goal.

Just after the previous couple's scores were announced, the barrier to the rink opened. It was time. They pulled back from each other to remove their skate covers and stepped onto the ice.

Applause filled the arena as their name and song choice for the free dance were announced. Chopin's _Waltz in E Minor_ was their selection this year—a classic choice in all senses of the word. Their free dance was delicate this year. They had been training for months to make every single movement look effortlessly graceful, as though this dance was like walking or breathing.

They took their places out on the ice, leaning against each other. The music filled their ears, the light, quick touch of a piano. There was nothing rushed or urgent about the beginning of this dance. Instead, Hermione always felt as though she was flying throughout the first two minutes. It was only when the piano grew more heavy-handed that the tone picked up.

The lifts were more difficult than anything they had ever attempted. One found Draco in a squatting position, Hermione laid out face-up on his knees, balanced perfectly and precariously just inches from the ice. They had been sore for days after their initial attempts. Even now, they were extra cautious with their stretches.

Today's performance went no different than their other performances of the season. Technically, it was all the same. And yet, somehow, it was more intense. The way Draco locked eyes with her… the way her heart seemed to keep time with the music… it was an intensity Hermione had never experienced on the ice.

Everything was riding on this one performance. Do well enough, and their future was practically sealed. Fail, and… well, Hermione didn't want to think about that. She couldn't think about it.

So she stayed focused on Draco, instead.

The feeling of his hand in hers. How his eyes glinted when he led her across the ice in a waltz.

When the final intense notes of the piano filled the area and they finished their last lift and landed in their ending pose, their chests heaved with the effort they put into the dance. Hermione's ears rang with the finality of it all.

They had done it. Tried to, at least.

Applause filled the arena, and Draco pulled Hermione out of the dip for them to meet it. When four bows toward all sides of the audience had been completed, Draco pulled Hermione into a tight hug, his lips pressing firmly against her cheek.

She tried to push the fluttering in her heart away. It was already beating fast enough.

"Think we did it?" Draco breathed into her ear, his arms still wrapped securely around her shoulders.

"Maybe. I think so." Hermione leaned her forehead briefly against his chest before they pulled apart and skated back to the barrier, hand in hand.

The Kiss and Cry Station came next. Snape met them there, his face frozen in a tight-lipped smile as it usually was at competitions.

"You did well," was all he said as they took their seats on the bench facing the camera. An assistant handed both her and Draco water bottles, and they gulped greedily.

As usual, Draco placed his hand on her knee as they waited for their scores. Their actual placement today was more or less irrelevant. What mattered was their numerical score: above a certain amount compared to the international competition, and they would qualify.

After what felt like ages, a cool female voice filled the area, and a hush fell over the crowd.

" _Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger have earned in the free dance… 86.64 points. At a total score of 138.59, they are currently in… first place."_

First place. Good. That was good.

Hermione smiled at the camera. She felt Draco's hand squeeze her knee.

First place was a good sign.

Whatever brief elation that filled Hermione's stomach was snuffed out the moment they stepped out of the Kiss and Cry Station. It was Snape's face that said it all.

Gone was the tight-lipped smile. Instead, it was replaced with something darker. Sullen.

Hermione felt her throat tighten.

"Well?" Draco asked the moment they made it backstage. "What is it?"

He had noticed Snape's change as well, apparently.

Snape inhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"I am not going to lie to the two of you. You are old enough that I can be blunt, yes?"

If Hermione's stomach had started to droop in the Kiss and Cry station, it had now fallen to her toes.

She managed to nod.

"Your performance today was good. There was nothing wrong with it overall. But there's no way you're going to make the Olympics this year. Not with those numbers."

It was like a rug had been pulled out underneath her.

To hear that they not only hadn't made it, but hadn't even been _close?_

"What do you mean?" Draco demanded. There was an edge to his voice that Hermione rarely heard.

"I mean that maybe in years past, a score of 138 would have qualified you, but the competition is stiff this year. Beyond stiff. I checked this morning, and the qualified couple with the lowest score is 150. You've come close to scoring that well this season, but not quite."

Before Hermione even had a chance to process their coach's words, Draco was yelling. The sound echoed around the backstage area.

"So you're saying that you _knew_ we wouldn't make it? You woke up this morning—no, you woke up _every morning_ this summer—telling us to work hard for the Olympic trials knowing that we probably wouldn't make it?"

The crimson flush on Draco's indignant face contrasted heavily with the pale stoicism on Snape's.

"You are correct, Draco."

"Then why the hell did you lie to us? Make us think we could actually go to the bloody Olympics?"

Snape sighed as though the answer was obvious.

Hermione teetered on the edge of angry tears as he opened his mouth to respond.

"Because I wanted to challenge you and Hermione this year, _Mr. Malfoy_. I wanted to see if you have what it takes."

Draco's nostrils flared. His fists clenched. "And do we?"

Snape sniffed, peering down at them over his nose.

"You do. Just not yet."

At that moment, a pair of frantic footsteps clattered through the concrete corridor in the backstage area, drawing closer with every second. Voices accompanied the footsteps.

"Hermione? Draco? Where are you?"

Mum. Dad.

The two hurtled around the corner, and within seconds, their arms wrapped around Hermione in a tight embrace.

"We saw your faces on camera. It seemed… did you…?" Dad held her at arm's length, his eyes searching hers. There was something in the way he looked at her, full of concern and full of love.

Hermione broke.

With the smallest, squeakiest, "No," she could manage, the weight in her chest turned into tears that poured down her cheeks, dripping onto the concrete floor.

Dad didn't say anything else, but instead, just held her, rocking her back and forth in his arms.

Mum, on the other hand, went over to Draco and placed an arm around him.

"You'll get there next time," Hermione heard her whisper to Draco. "You'll see."

With her parents' arrival, Snape excused himself. Their coach gone, Hermione felt less embarrassed to wear her heart on her sleeve in front of her parents and Draco. She continued to cry for several long minutes, her tears soaking Dad's fleece zip-up.

Eventually, Dad began to murmur soothing things to her as he patted her hair gently.

"You're only fifteen, bug."

"You have every opportunity to make it to the Olympics."

"You two are so talented. You've got something special that no one else out there has."

Hermione had half a mind to tell Dad to stop exaggerating to try and make her feel better.

But then again, it was kind of working. The tightness in her chest was slowly abating and her tears were slowly being replaced by sniffs.

But it was one thing in particular that stopped Hermione from telling Dad off.

She had turned her head at one point, her eyes staring blankly out into space as she let the words of comfort wash over her. When the world finally came back into focus, her gaze fell on Draco.

He was watching the two of them—her and her dad—with an odd expression on his face.

Gone was the crimson and the narrowed eyes, replaced, instead, with a slight frown and eyes that looked sad, almost. Far away.

Hermione watched Draco watching them. Yes, there was a definite sadness in the way he looked their way. It took Hermione a moment for her mind to whir back to life in between sniffs, but when she made the connection, her heart stuttered a painful rhythm.

Dad's words were everything his father's wouldn't be.

Her dad comforted. His father scolded.

Her dad cheered. His father critiqued.

Her dad loved. His father scorned.

What sort of conversation would await Draco when they went home tonight? Would there even be a conversation? Or would there only be one-sided expressions of disappointment like usual?

Hermione's heart ached at the thought that this would be the only comfort Draco would receive today after such unwanted results. She wanted nothing more than to take his hand in her own and whisk him off to live with her family. He could become a Granger, damn everything else. She could forget her bloody stupid little attraction if it meant he could feel reassurance in a moment like this.

Hermione let go of Dad and turned to her skating partner—her best friend.

"It's going to be okay, Draco. I promise."

These words seemed to break some sort of dam within Draco, because the next minute, his arms were around her, his own tears soaking into her sparkly white skating costume. She joined him, tears flowing freely once more for the dreams slipping through their fingers.

For how long they stood like that, crying together, she didn't know. They only let each other go when Snape's nasally voice filled the corridor once more.

"You have a press conference in ten minutes. I suggest you two clean yourselves up before you go in front of the cameras."

Eyes wiped and tears stoppered, Mum led them to the family restroom backstage, where they both took turns splashing cold water on their faces. Mum then dug through her skating cosmetics bag to redo her make-up. Draco even let Mum dot a few bits of concealer across his cheeks and under his eyes to cover up the blotchiness from crying.

With just one minute to go, they started down the main backstage corridor toward the press room, hand in hand.

"Hermione." Draco's voice cracked as he spoke—something it hadn't done since they were much younger. "I don't know if I can do this. Take the lead on the interview."

She squeezed his hand. "It's okay. I can do it."

What she would say, she had no idea, of course.

What _could_ she say?

Of one thing only, she was completely certain: she would take Draco's pain away in any way that she could, even if it meant throwing herself into the deep end without so much as a life jacket.

"Thank you," he muttered as they drew close to the double doors that led to the press room. His palms were growing sweaty against hers. She didn't let go.

They stood in front of those double doors for what felt like ages. Hermione contemplated just turning on the spot and going home without answering a thousand questions about their disappointing results. That would be the easy option. It seemed more than mildly appealing.

But no. She couldn't do that.

Not to their team.

Not to Draco.

He was counting on her to represent them both when he couldn't.

There was nothing to it but to puff out her chest, hold her chin high, and do it.

"Ready?" she whispered, her grip on his hand tightening.

"No." He chuckled, shooting her a nervous half-grin. "But I don't suppose we have a choice."

She shook her head. "But we'll get through this together."

Hermione pictured Lucius Malfoy in her mind and knew that her words only rang somewhat true.

"Yeah. Together."

She pushed open the doors to meet the cameras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. Poor Draco. 
> 
> No one currently likes Lucius Malfoy. I hear that a lot in the comments. I assume that's not changing any time soon. 
> 
> Love to you all! Until next Wednesday~


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco deals with the consequences of not qualifying for the Olympics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Beautiful People. I adore you all.
> 
> This chapter picks up right after the last chapter. However, there are timeskips forward and backward throughout the chapter. Pay attention to the dates!
> 
> All the thanks to GracefulLioness. Y'all should go read her fic, Dragon In The Dark. It's going to be marked complete next week!
> 
> TW: Abusive Lucius

**November 2005**

Before his failed attempt to get into the Winter Olympics in Torino, Draco could count the number of times his father had hit him on one hand.

The first time had been when he was four years-old. He had only wanted to _look_ at the shiny gold medal in Father's cabinet, honestly. But somehow, when he stood on his tiptoes, the whole thing came crashing down around him. He'd barely managed to dive out of the way before so many of his parents' collectibles smashed.

Father hadn't been happy.

The second time had been when he threatened to quit skating at age six. He just didn't like it that much anymore. The boys at school were all playing football, and he suggested one night at supper that he'd like to give it a try.

That had earned him a slap across the face and a lecture about insolence.

The third and fourth times had been when he had performed poorly in competitions. Once when he was ten, at a regional competition. Once when he and Hermione hadn't even made the podium at nationals.

And that had been it.

None of the incidents had been pleasant, per se, but Draco had always mustered through.

The fifth, sixth, and seventh times, though…

Draco wasn't so sure.

They all happened the night after the failed Olympic trial. Hermione had been so brave to take the lead in their post-competition interviews. She'd answered each question confidently and with grace, because _of course_ she could. Meanwhile, he had just sat there, catatonic, barely able to string two words together without falling apart.

After, they'd hugged for a long time. Her arms around him...

They'd felt like home.

He'd leaned into her fully, taking great gulps of air to just breathe in her scent. It was no longer foreign to him, but comforting instead. Flowers mixed with the earthy scent of her sweat. Different from how she smelled in her sleep. That scent was somehow softer, like the shampoo she used or the laundry soap in her pyjamas and sheets.

He wanted to remember every facet of Hermione so that he would have something to hold onto when the inevitable came to pass.

Mother and Father rode back to London in a town car. Draco chose to ride with the Grangers. They stopped for ice cream on the way.

From the moment he stepped into the Manor, something was off. The air had an extra layer of stiffness beyond its normal capacity. Draco couldn't quite put a finger on it, but he knew exactly what waited for him beyond the sparkling foyer.

"Come, Draco," Mother had said once Dobbs removed his jacket. "Your father wishes to see you in his study."

Though nerves filled every inch of his body, he did not show fear. He did not cry.

Tears would do him no good where he was going.

**February 2006**

The winter that followed was the longest to date. He and Hermione watched the Torino Olympics at her house. Though there was envy on their tongues and in their hearts, Draco knew from the moment the ice dancers took to the ice that Snape had been right.

They weren't ready for the Olympic stage. Not yet.

The last time the two of them had sat and watched the Olympics, they had only been children. He had shown Hermione the toy gold medal he had fashioned himself, and they had eaten their weight in snacks.

It had been a simpler time, only worrying about having the spotlight to himself.

Sitting beside her this time was a wholly different experience. For one thing, he _knew_ her. Draco probably knew Hermione better than anyone except her own parents. He knew how she took her tea and her curse word of choice when she fell on the ice. He knew about her ongoing nostalgia for _The Princes Diaries_ and that the person in this world she looked up to the most was her dad.

But it wasn't just that.

Draco loved her.

Not like _that_ , of course.

How did he always explain it in his own head?

She was a sister to him. A best friend. There wasn't _quite_ the right word out there for what she was to him, but those two came closest.

But it was love, certainly. It had to be.

She cuddled up next to him on the couch when they watched the Olympics, and the feeling of her body nestled into his was just right. Since they couldn't share a bed during their months apart, this had become a substitution of sorts. Hermione's presence beside him was so relaxing that on more than one occasion, they'd fallen asleep against each other only to be awoken by one of Hermione's parents some time later.

And it was at times like those that Draco was grateful he had started to get his morning problem under control. He no longer had to run to the bathroom first thing after waking up beside Hermione. Usually. There was still the occasional mishap, but those he could discount.

After all, that was a perfectly normal reaction to being pressed up next to a beautiful girl like Hermione.

Not that he thought of her that way.

She was like a sister. Like a best friend.

Something like that.

At least… that's what he wanted her to be.

Stealing glances at her as they watched the Olympics unfold on the telly, Draco knew that his easy days with her like this were numbered.

**November 2005**

Draco knocked on the door to Father's study with a shaky hand.

"Enter."

The coldness in Lucius Malfoy's voice reverberated through the small gap in the door, sending a chill straight down Draco's spine.

He gulped and followed orders.

"Good evening, Draco."

Father's back was facing the door, his gaze fixed instead on the fireplace in the corner.

"Good evening, Father." Draco forced himself to form each syllable deliberately.

There was a brief pause before Father's voice sounded again, short and sharp.

"Come."

With feet like lead, Draco crossed the floor. Unlike when he was on the ice, his movements felt clumsy and uncertain. By the time he reached Father's side, he was sure that he had never felt so much dread in his life.

"So I hear there will be no trip to Italy in the coming months."

It was such a backhanded way to bring up his failings.

Draco cleared his throat. "No, sir."

"I see."

That's when the first slap came to his cheek.

Draco sucked in his breath and held it for fear he would cry out. He only allowed himself to bring his own hand to his face, cradling it as it pulsed beneath his palm.

"You've become far too distracted, Draco." Father began to pace. "Victory takes nothing short of perfect focus."

Draco wanted to respond—to retort that he had been focused, more focused than he had ever been in his life this past year. Well, save for the dancing incident, as he and Hermione called it. Surely he was allowed one tiny slip-up?

But he knew better than to interrupt his father with his opinion.

**July 2006**

Training for the 2006-2007 season began with the greatest rigor Draco had ever experienced to date. Snape began inviting Madam Hooch to more and more of their practices, and she nitpicked everything, stopping them two seconds into every sequence to change the angle of Hermione's arm or adjust the weight distribution of his legs.

Although he wasn't sure how it was possible, Draco left every practice fully exhausted. Half the time, he didn't even have the energy to stay awake through a movie with Hermione, choosing instead to pass out on his own mattress.

When Hermione asked him what was wrong, he always gave the same answer.

"I'm just tired, okay?"

And it was true, he always felt tired. Beyond tired. _Exhausted,_ withered down to the bone, almost.

He also couldn't bring himself to curl into Hermione's body on her bed, taking in her scent until he felt relaxed enough to sleep. Not with his father's words in his head.

So he slept alone.

And Draco wasn't exactly sure when his exhaustion bled into something akin to anger. It was more of a gradual process. It started small, making him growl with frustration whenever Madam Hooch stopped them for the fifth time in three minutes.

Growls turned to laps around the ice when he couldn't quite master the mechanics of the new lift they were trying to learn.

Laps around the ice turned to shouting into the nearly-empty arena when Hermione missed her cue. Again.

"Come on, Hermione. It's not that hard! You've got to reach for my shoulder on the third upbeat." He chastised as she leaned forward, hands on her knees.

"I _know_ ," she snapped. " _Please_ , Draco."

Hermione looked up at him, and he recognized the same unrelenting frustration in her eyes that he saw when he looked in the mirror. He wanted to reach out, to apologize, to ask for a short break just so he could hold her.

" _Victory takes nothing short of perfect focus."_

Father's words filled his mind.

And the threats that had followed…

Those never left.

"Let's just get back to work." He found himself snarling at her in a voice that wasn't quite his own.

Draco imagined as he skated away that if he looked back, he'd see hurt splashed all across Hermione's face.

He didn't look.

All summer long, training passed in this fashion. They were pushed harder than ever before both on and off the ice. Dance practices occurred daily and they bookended each one with time at the rink. Draco continued to spend time in the dormitory gym four evenings a week. Sometimes, on evenings when he was tempted to spend time with Hermione, he made excuses and went there instead.

Running, lifting, stretching… as sweat poured down his face, he tried not to think of Hermione—tried to put his head anywhere else. And it worked for a time. Putting his body through its paces was a decent enough distraction. He worked out until he was covered in sweat, his mind blissfully empty of his father, of the ice…

But try as he might, Hermione's sweet, encouraging face always appeared to him the second he threw a towel over his shoulder and headed to wash up for the night. He saw her as he leaned his forehead against the cool tiles of the shower stall, tried to push her to the outskirts of his mind as he touched himself.

And as Draco stepped out of the shower, guilt gnawing away at him for what he had just done, he thought that maybe, just maybe, Father had been right.

**November 2005**

"You know what I think is your problem, Draco?" Father lectured as he prowled around his study.

Draco's stomach ached with an odd sense of foreboding. He had a good guess as to what Father thought his problem was.

"What is it, Father?" he asked, trying to keep any drops of snark from seeping into his words.

"Your problem is that the object of your distraction is the very person with whom you spend the most time." Lucius paused, his gaze turning sharply at Draco. "Miss Granger, while an excellent skater, might prove yet to have been the wrong decision. She doesn't come from the same sort of background that you do, Draco. She hasn't been prepared for the sort of dedication it will take to qualify for the Olympics during the next go round."

Draco felt his blood start to boil at these insinuations. He clenched his fists, trying to channel his anger there instead of saying something he'd regret.

"Wouldn't that be a shame? To put in all this effort and money and never make it to the top because your partner just doesn't understand the meaning of hard work."

Draco blinked. Hermione's face floated past his mind. He thought of all the times she had fallen down and gotten back up—all the times she had happily gone along with Snape's demands that they run their routine 'just one more time'—all the times she had fallen asleep in his arms at eight o'clock, too tired to make it through the first ten minutes of a movie.

"Hermione knows exactly what hard work means," he heard himself say. "She works harder than anyone I've ever met, and she wants to go to the Olympics just as badly as I do." Draco stepped forward, his voice growing more confident with each passing second.

"Your measure of dedication and mine are severely different, Draco. That girl has clearly warped your sensibilities."

"No, she hasn't."

_Slap!_

For the second time that night, Draco's cheek stung as Father's palm hit it suddenly and sharply.

But he didn't cry. He wouldn't cry.

"Hermione Granger is the source of your distraction. Mark my words, boy. She's the reason you can't seem to focus worth a damn."

**August 2006**

Fame was something that Draco had been prepared for, in one way or another. He'd watched his parents navigate fame throughout his childhood. They had been called away to attend galas or commentate for winter-related events regularly. A camera crew had once toured the Manor.

People knew the Malfoy name.

But for them to know him, and especially to know him and Hermione as a unit—that was new. That was something they were still learning to navigate.

That navigation was made much harder this year. All summer, Draco hadn't been able to bring himself to lean on Hermione like he had before. Every grain of focus had gone toward perfecting their routines for the year.

This year had to be perfect.

Perhaps, Draco had reasoned, if it was perfect, he could convince Father to—

No, Draco hadn't wanted to think about that. Instead, he threw himself into the details of their upcoming season. The music selection. The lifts they would tackle. The mechanics of every second spent on ice.

Hermione fought him tooth and nail every minute.

"But that piece is so boring!" she argued when he suggested yet another classical composition that would assuredly serve them well. "Why can't we skate to something more lyrical—more moving?"

"What's not moving about this?" He gritted his teeth and waved the Vivaldi CD about. "It's stirring and there are plenty of excellent crescendos that would lend themselves well to lifts and twizzles."

"I still say we should go with something more modern—more relatable. We want people to be moved by our performance, and—"

They'd spent so much of the summer arguing that by the time beginning-of-the-season press interviews began, Draco wasn't sure they could hold an entire conversation without bickering.

But Hermione surprised him when they arrived at the London television studio. In front of a crowd of screaming fans— _Screaming fans? When had that happened?_ —she had been the picture of poise and smiles. She'd even given a few autographs, making small talk with each person as she signed photographs or skating programs from previous competitions.

They loved her—all of them. And how could they not? She was kind and talented and so very lovely. The way her smile lit up when she talked to a little girl about skating and dancing, it made his heart melt.

To think that he was driving her away might very well come close to killing him.

When it was time for them to sit side-by-side to answer questions about the upcoming year, she beamed at him like she had in years past. Her eyes lit up as though they hadn't just been arguing earlier that day, as though they still clicked as easily as they used to.

"Yes, I do believe our success stems from our close relationship." Hermione placed a soft hand on his knee as she gave the same answer she had so many times before. If Draco hadn't known any better, he would imagine that everyone present would see the placement of her hand as the sweet gesture of a caring friend.

But Draco knew. Draco knew they hadn't touched each other in weeks outside of practice. He knew that despite her many attempts to figure out why he was being "so goddamn cold" toward her, she had stopped reaching for his hand when it wasn't absolutely necessary.

It damn near broke his heart.

But it was a sacrifice he had to make in order to keep them together. More than anything, he wanted to keep skating with Hermione—to make it all the way to the top with her.

And that wasn't going to happen if their relationship stayed the same as it had been.

So he could fake smiles in front of the cameras. He'd been doing it for longer than he could remember. The world would be satisfied as long as their partnership still seemed strong. As long as it was enough to keep him skating with her.

**November 2005**

"What would you have me do, Father?" Draco asked, his fists clenched and his face still stinging. "Find another partner?"

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting."

Draco blanched. "B-but I—we can't. Hermione and I—we already have an established relationship as skaters."

"And you are also still fifteen years-old. You are young enough that another relationship could easily be forged. This time we'd be more selective. I know Miss Parkinson's technique has greatly improved over the last few years."

A wave of panic was slowly building in him moment by moment. Skate with Pansy? That had been a disaster. And it would continue to be a disaster.

But that wasn't even the point.

The thought of abandoning Hermione when they were on the cusp of such success… it nearly made him sick.

"I-I don't want a new skating partner, Father." Draco's voice began to shake once more, this time with emotion rather than fear. "I want to skate with Hermione. She's the right partner for me."

Lucius tutted. "We shall see, Draco. Don't think I won't be watching you this year. If you so much as slip up or overstep your professional relationship with that girl, not only will you find yourself with a new partner, I will ensure that Miss Granger's career on the ice is over."

It was no empty threat. He'd seen the calculating way Father operated—the callous way he'd fired maids, driven away Draco's coaches, ruined the lives of his competition back when he was a speed skater.

If Lucius Malfoy wanted to go after Hermione, she didn't stand a chance.

Draco couldn't help it. He lunged at Father, nearly feral.

"Don't you _dare_ come near Hermione!" he cried, nostrils flared, eyes wide. He must have looked completely crazed. "Do what you want with me. I don't bloody well care, but you leave Hermione out of this!"

That was the third time he was slapped that night.

The sound reverberated across the study as Father struck him harder than ever. It was sure to leave a bruise. Tears pricked at the corners of Draco's eyes, but he told himself it was from the injustice of it all.

"Listen to me well, Draco. The hundreds of thousands of pounds that have been invested in your success may be a frivolous joke to you, but they are not to me." Lucius tipped Draco's chin up with the tip of his cane. "I expect you to win. I expect you to stay focused. And if that means making sure you forget that _nobody_ —because that's what she is—then so be it."

" _Please."_ Draco heard himself beg. "Anything—I'll do _anything_ to keep her as a skating partner. Don't ruin her career, Father."

This seemed to be the answer Father was waiting for. The man smirked and let go of Draco's chin.

"The answer is simple, Draco. Treat Miss Granger as your professional partner. Nothing more. Don't let yourself get distracted." Father returned to his armchair and swirled his tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. "Don't disappoint me."

Shaking even more violently than he had been when he entered, Draco abandoned his father's study in haste.

**December 2006**

Second place.

They had made it all the way to the Junior Grand Prix qualifying round, competing in France just before the Christmas season. Months and months of the hardest training Draco had ever done, and it all culminated in second place.

Draco's heart sunk to his toes as the final scores were announced.

They had made the podium, yes.

But they had not made the finals.

Only the gold medalists had the opportunity to travel to Japan and compete for the world's top spot.

From the moment Draco calculated their standing, his stomach lurched with the possibility that this result wasn't good enough for Father. That he had already skated his last with Hermione.

Would he come home tomorrow to another confrontation in the study? Would he be left begging to stay by her side again?

There were so many unknowns.

He nearly sicked up as the silver medal was placed around his neck.

Beside him, Hermione squeezed his hand.

She really was a treasure, Hermione. No matter how hard he pushed, how cold he turned, she never seemed to give up on him. She was always there, just a few feet behind him, as though she was waiting for him.

Just in case he needed her.

And _God_ , did he need her.

But he couldn't risk it.

He didn't squeeze back.

They attended their usual press junket afterward with the gold and bronze medalists, couples from Germany and France, respectively. They held hands through the interviews as always. Hermione gazed lovingly at him and Draco's stomach swooped horribly.

He wasn't sure if it was nerves or something else.

And when it was finally over, both Hermione's parents and his parents met them. The Grangers enveloped them both in great big hugs, wishing them endless congratulations. Draco kept his eyes on Father the whole time, though. He was waiting for some sort of sign that would tell him what to expect—whether he had met the mark or not.

He was met with nothing but stoicism.

Dread filled his stomach. It seeped into his fingers and his throat.

His whole body began to tremble, and didn't stop even when they went back to the changing room together to get back into street clothes.

They turned their backs to each other like usual. Draco pulled his duffel bag to his feet facing the tall, black curtains that made up their makeshift room. On the opposite side of the space, he heard the rustling of Hermione undressing. His imagination carried him across the room, to where she was surely exposing her creamy skin to the cool air. Did she have goose pimples? Or was her skin still the same smooth texture it always was against his palms?

_No._

Draco forced that train of thought to stop. He needed to stay focused. She was not a distraction he could indulge in. He couldn't break. Not now.

Especially when he might be hours away from never seeing her again.

Would she hate him when their partnership inevitably came to an end at the hands of his father?

Would Hermione even know it was Father who did it? Or would he make her believe that Draco had suggested the change?

His stomach turned at the very real possibility.

Because it _was_ inevitable, wasn't it? Hermione had never been good enough in Father's eyes. Draco was always doomed to split from the girl who had become his best friend.

As he shed his tight skating clothes, exchanging them for athletic trousers, a t-shirt, and a zip-up jacket, his mind raced. The light sounds of Hermione changing behind him were a constant reminder of her presence. Hers was a presence that usually soothed him. But hearing how she hummed to herself now, he was closer than ever to vomiting.

"Hey Draco?"

_Shit._

"Yeah?"

He would not cry. He wouldn't.

"Are you okay? You seem quiet."

Her voice was soft and filled with concern, and Draco's heart clenched. He cleared his throat.

"Do I?"

"Mm. Normally you can't stop talking about strategy and what went wrong. But today you're just… you're quiet."

Draco sighed and bent over to retrieve a pair of socks from his bag. He shrugged, though he knew Hermione couldn't see him.

"I don't know… I'm just—" he paused, the lie ready on his tongue. "—disappointed."

"Oh, Draco." He could see her sweet smile in his mind's eye. "We did really well today. I know we won't be moving on, but I feel really proud of what we accomplished. And we scored our season's best! That's got to count for something."

He wanted to feel encouraged by Hermione's words… wanted to turn and hug her and not let go, but he couldn't… he couldn't…

He couldn't give her false hope. Couldn't let her see how much he needed her. Not when he knew exactly what was coming.

He needed to push her away now—push her away so that when their partnership dissolved, it would hurt less for her. Maybe she'd even be glad to be rid of him.

Draco looked up at the ceiling, forcing the moisture in his eyes not to fall.

This was it.

"Yeah, well I think it's utter shit." He turned, keeping his eyes downcast and hoisted his duffel onto his shoulder. When he heard Hermione turn as well, he looked up.

"Draco—"

"Don't patronize me, Hermione. You know as well as I do how hard we worked to get here, and we couldn't even earn two more measley points to get to the final?"

He forced himself to sneer.

"Pathetic."

Hermione drew back slightly, her brows furrowed. "We aren't pathetic, Draco. We worked hard, yes, but sometimes things don't work out the way we want."

Draco drew in great breaths to amp up his heart rate. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't know about things not working out the way I want? Do you even have any idea what I want?"

Hermione scoffed. "Of course I do, Draco. I _know_ you."

"Then tell me, Granger! What do I want?"

They were shouting now. Good. Let everyone hear. Let everyone know so Hermione would be glad when they never had to speak again. Draco folded his arms and looked down at the girl who had made him happier than he had ever been—and so help him, he thought he saw tears in her eyes.

"You want what we both want, Draco. You want to get to the Olympics."

An idea clicked into place at that moment in Draco's head. A terrible idea. An idea that could drive Hermione away from him—could send her running.

"Yeah. That's right. The Olympics. My one and only goal. And guess what?"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"And we're never going to get there at this rate."

"What do you mean? Of course we're going to get there. This was just another set back."

Draco raked his hands through his hair.

"Just another setback? Hermione, how many setbacks have we had?" He stepped closer to Hermione until they were so close the tips of their toes nearly touched in their street shoes. "It's just not acceptable. We were supposed to go to the finals this year, and my father—"

He had said too much. _Fuck._

Hermione was on him immediately, the perceptive girl that she was. "Your father what? Draco, is this about your father?" She took a step closer and placed a hand on his forearm. "I understand you're under pressure, but—"

"You don't know _anything_ about pressure, Hermione."

It was, by Draco's estimation, a partially-true statement. She had no idea of Father's intentions or how cruel he could be. And with any luck, she never would know.

He ripped his arm away from her grasp, hatred filling his face. His whole body flushed with artificial anger. "You could never understand what it's like, Hermione. What it's like to face a failure like this. It's like—like a slap in the face to everything we've worked for."

Hermione licked her lips and tilted her head. "But Draco," she began softly. "What happened today—it wasn't failure."

"It was!" he shouted. Disdain dripped from his words, and he could see in her eyes that Hermione heard it. "We keep failing, Hermione, and you just don't see it. You can't see it!"

Draco clutched the handle of his duffel bag so tightly in his fist that he could feel the rough texture of the strap dig into his skin.

"Then tell me!" she cried out. "Talk to me, Draco. Every time we've tried to talk this year, it's like I meet a brick wall. I don't know what happened this year, but you've gone so cold on me."

A single tear ran down her cheek.

"I miss you, Draco. I want the old you back. I want us to skate and dance like we used to when we were kids. Like we did even last year." She was hugging herself now, her arms wrapped around her middle. It took every inch of his willpower not to go to her, envelop her in his own arms, and apologize over and over.

He couldn't do that. Not now. He had to push forward. It was the only way.

"The old me is gone. It's the senior level soon, and there's got to be some changes."

Hermione blinked, another fat tear dripping down her chin.

"Ch-changes?"

Draco braced, willing himself to have the strength to speak.

"We need to be more professional. I come from professional athletes. I've been preparing my whole life to train like this. But you? The way you keep insisting we hang out all the time. I-I don't have any interest in that sort of thing. All of my energy needs to go toward training. Because that's the way forward. That's the way we're going to win."

Draco watched as Hermione's face morphed from sad to angry, frustrated to despairing.

"Draco, I'm all for training as hard as possible, but surely—"

"Enough is enough, Hermione. You can make excuses all you want. But I can't. I'm Draco Malfoy, son of two Olympic medalists, and I'll be damned if I don't see my name join that list." He drew himself up to his full height. Hermione was dwarfed under his puffed-out chest. "I come from a family of somebodies, Hermione. There's an expectation there. Anything less than perfection is failure. But for you? Hermione, you're a _nobody_. You come from a family of nobodies. What's second place to you?"

Hermione's face had gone red, her bloodshot eyes wide and staring in horror. He pushed on.

"You know, Hermione, you should be damn grateful to be skating with me. Without me, where would you be? Still stuck in that little ballet studio, teaching six year-olds how to get into third position, I'll bet. But no. Thanks to me, you've made it onto the international stage with kids asking for your damn autograph instead."

Draco took a breath and uttered his last.

"If you thought I ever saw you as anything but the key to my gold medal, then you really are a fool."

That did it.

Hermione burst into tears and ran through the dark curtains of the changing room, duffel bag swinging behind her.

Good. Let her run. Let her seek out her parents and vent to them and never have anything to do with him again.

Better that then have her entire life ruined by his father.

He had done the right thing.

She'd only get more hurt, otherwise.

He'd done the right thing.

Hadn't he?

Draco's breath hitched and his knees buckled under him. Crashing to the floor, Draco couldn't find the strength to stand any longer. He crumpled into a heap and sobbed.

_What had he done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that drama I smell?
> 
> Poor Draco. Poor Hermione. Poor everyone! (except Lucius)
> 
> Draco was really caught between a rock and a hard place... what do you think of his decision? This truly is an Idiots To Lovers story.
> 
> So much love to all of you.
> 
> Be well.
> 
> Until next week! xoxo Biscuits


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione have a shot at the Junior Grand Prix Final. That's all well and good, but will it matter with a broken relationship?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many of you did NOT like last week's angst. Well... as I said, this story's nickname was "Flangst On Ice" for a reason. 
> 
> Many more of you wanted rather graphic vengeance against Lucius Malfoy. 
> 
> ...
> 
> TW in this chapter for minor character death.
> 
> So much love to Graceful Lioness for all her help with this fic.

**December 2007 - One Year Later**

It had been the season from hell. There was no nicer way to put it.

A full season of bickering through rehearsals until Snape had to intervene; months of eating quiet meals alone and then retiring to her dorm room to watch movies without Draco; countless lonely nights with nothing to console her but the hope of a joyless win at finals.

It had been a full season of fake smiles and stilted interviews for a public that continued to cheer their names, having no idea how broken they had become.

The sooner it was over, the better.

Win or lose, _thankfully_ , that day was today.

Hermione shoved her skates on her feet, tying the laces with more fervor than necessary. In just a few minutes' time she could take these things off and forget about them for a while. Maybe even forever.

Beside her, Draco was doing some last-minute stretches. He had his eyes closed and was mumbling something to himself. Occasionally, he turned his head to look at her, his frown deepening.

Hermione couldn't help the irritation that crawled its way up her body and made her teeth gnash.

Everything about Draco Malfoy irritated her these days. The way he moved. The way he talked. The way he _breathed_.

And it wasn't that she _wanted_ to find him annoying. She wanted more than anything to see him the way he used to be, back when he had been kind and funny and her best friend…

But something had changed this last year, and he wasn't the Draco she had loved.

He was cold and distant now, constantly picking fights with her. They had argued nearly every day during training this summer, bickering back and forth until their voices cracked and tears welled in Hermione's eyes.

It just wasn't fair.

The Draco she loved— her partner, her best friend—he was gone, replaced by a monster solely focused on winning.

"Five minutes."

Hermione whipped her head around to see Snape poking his head through the curtains. He looked surly as ever, his face painted in its ever-permanent scowl. But Hermione knew their coach. He was just as nervous as she was, and would be the first to congratulate them when they stepped off the ice.

Second would be Dad. Looking forward to the feel of Dad's arms wrapped around her in a hug, win or lose, was the only thing getting her through this competition. She'd already thrown up twice today while Draco had been meditating or stretching or whatever.

Normally, Draco would have held her hair and rubbed her back, but she was no longer his priority. It was a cold, hard fact she'd come to terms with over the last few months. And it had taken her even longer to admit that he'd changed.

It had started when he called her a nobody. Months and months ago, he'd broken her heart by giving voice to her one of her greatest fears. Because it was true. She did feel like a nobody. Frequently. Like she didn't belong in this world of fancy costumes and trophies and television interviews. More often than not, she felt like an imposter with a medal around her neck.

Not like him, anyway. Draco—he _belonged_ out here. He'd been on his way to greatness long before she was in the picture.

And Hermione—she knew she was a good skater. An even better dancer. But she had been convinced, at least for a little while, that she meant more than that to Draco. That their time together had meaning—that they were a team. Closer, even. She had believed that Draco saw her not just as promising young star Hermione Granger, but as his friend.

 _That_ , to her, was worth more than any gold medal they could win.

And then Draco's words had shattered her vision all in one go.

" _If you thought I ever saw you as anything but the key to my gold medal, then you really are a fool."_

She'd spent days crying in her room, inconsolable. She'd wanted to quit—to abandon the partnership altogether.

When the tears had finally died down and the logical side of her returned, she was determined to get to the bottom of her heartbreak. Besides, they'd come this far, and hurt as she was, Olympic gold was her dream as well. She couldn't imagine giving it up or starting over with a new partner.

Hermione had been in denial for the first half of the year, making mental excuses when he didn't return her phone calls or rejected her offers to hang out.

Surely, she reasoned, something was going on.

Draco was under a lot of pressure—she knew that much. Perhaps his father was finally getting to him.

Hermione wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. And she tried so hard. She tried for months and months to tell herself that something was going on with him.

A few times, she even caught him watching her with something like _longing_ in his eyes. But those most have been dreams or absurd musings of her imagination, because those looks were always fleeting at best, evaporating into memory as fast as they appeared.

Even now, minutes away from their Free Dance at the Junior Grand Prix Final, Hermione swore there was something in the way his mouth twitched when they glanced at each other.

"We'll be ready," Draco croaked beside her. Snape nodded and disappeared through the curtain, leaving them alone again. Hermione watched Draco's throat bob as his eyes flitted to hers.

In them, Hermione saw everything she missed about him. His kindness. His good humor. Even his overly-dramatic side.

And then it was gone. He turned his head to focus on his stretches once more.

Hermione studied him for a moment, able to let her gaze linger with his back turned to her. He had looked especially pale this morning—and that was saying something. Normally, _she_ was the one whose nerves got to them, nauseous and white as a sheet. But today, the nerves seemed to have found Draco as well. Hermione watched his whole body quake with tremors as he stretched.

She would have offered to help, or at least ask if he was okay, but for reasons Hermione still couldn't pinpoint, that didn't seem to be an option anymore.

Draco turned his head slightly. His eyes met hers, and she quickly focused back to her skates.

Hermione longed to simply ask him what had happened—what had changed for him this year. It was just a few simple words she had to say: _What changed for you? What happened to make you like this—cruel and singularly focused?_

But brave as she was, there were some words she just couldn't bring herself to say.

Giving her laces one last tug, she stood and reached her hands to the ceiling.

"Ready?" Her voice was quiet. When had she grown so sheepish?

Draco nodded. He glanced at the monitor hanging from the corner of the room. It showed the preceding couple—the Russian team—were heading into their final sequences.

As he stood to meet her, his throat bobbed again. There was a melancholy to his movements, as though his body was heavy. His face had gone even whiter, if possible. He looked like he might be sick at any moment.

"Are you—Draco, are you okay?"

She hadn't meant to ask, but the words just… slipped out. Hermione cursed inwardly, wishing there was a way she could turn the clock back a few seconds to take back her impulsive question.

She'd asked him this question countless times this season, and he'd always grown surly and distant whenever she pried into his moods. This was the wrong time to upset him. The two of them were supposed to show closeness and trust from the moment they stepped onto the ice, and if Draco thought she was prying again…

She couldn't turn back time, but she could backtrack.

"Draco—I'm sorry." The words fell from her tongue in haste. "I didn't mean—we can talk after. Or not. I just... Draco?"

Hermione heard the roar of the crowd through the monitor. The previous couple had finished. Any second now, Snape would be coming through the door to usher them out into the arena.

This wasn't the time to mend their broken relationship.

It wasn't the time for her to get emotional and him to yell at her. Again.

She couldn't handle that. Not right before stepping onto the international stage. Not when everyone believed they were close. Like siblings. Like best friends. There was only so much acting she was capable of.

But Draco didn't yell. He didn't even look mad.

Instead, the colour had suddenly returned to his cheeks in full, a flush flooding his face so deeply that Hermione swore there was heat coming off of him. While he still clearly looked like he was about to be sick, it was as though something inside him had broken—a dam or a switchboard.

Draco ran his hands through his hair, his face blotchy and his eyes red. Hermione took a step back, wary of this sudden change in her skating partner. She'd known him to be dramatic and volatile for years, but this abrupt shift was something different entirely.

He bent over and yelled, his eyes squeezed shut, his fingers digging into his scalp. The sound was brief and terrifying, its echoes muffled by the curtains.

Hermione stood, frozen, watching Draco break down moments before they had to appear on ice. What should she do? Did he need a doctor? Snape? Could he even skate? She pushed the panic that was welling in her chest down as best as she could as her mind raced to think of the best solution.

"I can't fucking do this."

Draco's voice, while shaking, was calm. He looked right up at her, his body still hunched slightly.

He looked nothing short of miserable, eyes puffy, body trembling.

Hermione blinked. She forced herself to speak, choosing her words carefully. She didn't want to break him. "What do you mean?"

Draco took measured breaths, his throat bobbing. Though he wasn't crying, he looked close to it. He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers.

For the first time in nearly a year, Hermione thought she saw a glimpse of his soul.

Draco stood up straight, his head shaking. "I can't go out there and perform while we're—while I'm—"

Giving into her instincts, Hermione stepped forward and placed her hands on Draco's shoulders. She dipped her head, eyes tilting up to meet his. "Breath, Draco. _Breathe._ Why can't we perform?"

She could see the corners of his eyes begin to glisten. And when he opened his mouth, his words made her heart clench.

"Hermione, I am _so sorry."_

"You— _what?_ "

Her grip on his shoulders loosened. Draco barreled on.

"I've been an arse. For months. And there isn't any time to explain now. But, I—Hermione, please, let's just skate for us. Please. I can't go on like this—not anymore."

He was begging. Actually _begging_.

What was happening?

Through the whiplash, Hermione tried to piece together the jigsaw puzzle that was her skating partner. He'd treated her like rubbish all season long. Like a nobody. And here, just moments before the biggest skate of their lives, he wanted to make amends?

Hermione wanted to rejoice, but she also wanted to throw something. Her heart hammered in her chest as she fluctuated between sweet relief and pure rage.

How dare he say something like this now? And why say it _now_? After months of treating her like she was nothing? Didn't he know how much was riding on these next few minutes?

 _Of course he does,_ the cynical voice in her head told her. _He's only saying these things to lure you into a false sense of security to improve your skate._

Hermione's stomach lurched as her eyes met Draco's. He was looking at her with a wounded expression, his eyes wide. Was it just her, or was he actually trembling?

Pushing down her instinct to engage in a full-blown, long overdue conversation, she reached forward and grasped his hand fiercely.

"Draco, you listen to me right now. We have to go skate. I have no idea what's going on with you. I haven't for months. But now isn't the time. We can talk after. We can talk as long as you like as soon as we're done."

He sniffed, his face still a mess. "Please, Hermione, you just have to know—"

"Draco—"

" _I didn't mean it!"_

Hermione froze. Draco's hand was sweaty in her own. She could hear the telltale footsteps of Snape in the corridor, coming to fetch them. Inside, her heart pounded with the inevitability of all her hopes and her heartbreak colliding at once. Or was it all imploding?

It was all she could do to keep breathing.

Draco squeezed her hand. He looked close to crying. Licking his lips, he opened his mouth to speak, and honestly, Hermione had no idea if she was ready to hear his words.

"I didn't mean it when I said you're a nobody."

All the air left her lungs. She'd wanted to hear these words for ages. Bloody ages. But not now. Not like this.

Before he could say another word, she reached forward, clapping her other hand over his mouth.

"Not now, Draco. This needs to be a proper conversation. And I… I want to listen. But right now, we need to focus on skating…" Hermione swallowed. Beneath her hand, she felt the soft puffs of his breath against her palm. His cheeks were burning. "We need to go skate just for us."

Draco melted into her, his arms looping around her body, his head resting on the top of her head.

"Just us," he murmured into her hair.

"Just us."

Their heartbeats didn't match, but there was no time for silly rituals like that. All business, Hermione pulled back from Draco and dug in her duffel bag for a moment. Draco stood like a limp noodle, fully spent, as she reached for the facial wipes she kept in her make-up kit.

"Here," she said, pulling two sheets out. "Wipe your face off. You've got to get it together, okay? Do you think you can do that?"

Like a child, Draco nodded wordlessly and accepted the wipes. Hermione retrieved her water bottle next and offered it up. He took a few sips and splashed some onto his face. By the time Snape stepped into their changing room, he didn't look nearly as broken as he had just moments before.

If Snape noticed anything, he didn't mention it.

"It's time. Are you ready?" His eyes darted between them, lingering on Draco.

Hermione nodded. "We are."

"Draco?" Snape raised an eyebrow in his direction.

Draco cleared his throat. "Yes, sir. Ready."

"Excellent. Now remember to keep your elbow tucked on the second lift, Hermione. Draco, be careful of your footwork after the twizzle sequence." Snape paused, taking the two of them in. "Right. It's time."

They walked down the short corridor outside their curtained-off room before emerging onto the side of the rink. The couple before them—a pair from Russia—were just receiving their scores. Draco and Hermione removed their blade covers and stood by the barrier, ready to take to the ice.

Hermione's nerves had returned in full, though she didn't honestly know whether they were caused by the impending biggest skate of her life or the conversation she and Draco would have afterward.

As the applause following the Russian couple's scores died down, one of the event volunteers opened the cushioned barrier, granting them access to the ice.

Draco held out his hand.

She took it.

A short video tribute to them played on the screen suspended in the center of the rink above their heads. Hermione only had vague recollections about what she had said for the camera. Something about the hard work and preparation and about their excitement to finally be here. It didn't really matter. She heard Draco's disembodied voice introducing their music selection—a medley from _The Nutcracker_ —and her mind instantly flew back to their weeks-long argument about it.

She'd argued for something more contemporary. Something more dynamic.

He vehemently insisted that the classics were far superior.

He'd won in the end, because of course he had. His opinions always won out.

But that was a moot point now, because here they were—in Italy, about to perform in the Junior Grand Prix Final—one of the biggest stages in the world for skaters. They were here, and Draco seemed—well, he seemed different somehow.

Hermione squeezed his hand as they settled into their starting position.

Draco squeezed back, leaning his head forward just slightly so that his mouth was positioned just beside her ear.

"Hermione, you're not nobody. You never were. To me, you're everything."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes shining.

Hermione knew that look. He used to wear it so often when he looked her way. To see that expression again…

It was exactly what she needed.

The music began in a swirling waltz of familiar strings and oboes and brass, and for the first time that season, she let herself get swept away in the joy of skating.

The feel of Draco's hand on her waist as they skated around the ice had felt nearly toxic for months. And now, though they had repeated these motions thousands of times, they suddenly felt brand new. Shivers ran through Hermione's body as they moved in perfect time with the music, arms and legs and torsos in perfect synchrony with the crescendos and decrescendos.

Draco spun her into their first lift, and though her body was as taut as she could make it, she'd never felt lighter. As he set her back down on the ice to go back into the waltz pattern, their eyes met.

It was like seeing into eternity.

Hesitant though Hermione knew she should be after everything Draco had put her through in the last year, this was what she wanted more than anything. She wanted to feel that spark around him again—wanted to have every confidence in him.

With each passing second on the ice, Hermione felt herself become more and more convinced that it was finally going to be okay.

This wasn't going to be her final competition or her final skate.

This was only the beginning.

The music swelled as they transitioned to the twizzle sequence, and it was then that Hermione felt it—their hearts, beating as one.

She knew it then: everything she needed was right here. Whatever had happened with Draco these past few months was no more. There _was_ a future for her and Draco—on the ice, off the ice, it didn't matter.

Draco cradled her in his arms for a fleeting second before they began the sequence leading up to the final lift. The music egged on the fluttering in her heart as he offered her a dazzling smile, and without warning, Hermione was flooded with pure, unadulterated joy.

This was easy.

This was joyful.

This was why she loved skating with Draco.

Their final lift came and went—Hermione remembered to keep her elbow tucked—and the dance came to its conclusion with symphonic fanfare and tumultuous applause.

After holding their final pose for a few seconds, Draco loosened his grip until they stood across from each other on the ice, wide-eyed, chests heaving, giddy grins dancing at the corners of both of their mouths.

Hermione could have sworn there was applause surrounding them, but it all faded away the second Draco's arms were around her. How long had it been since she was pressed into him like this—not as a part of rehearsing or performing, but spontaneously, as affectionate friends? Hermione buried her head in his chest, breathing in the scent she had so sorely missed.

" _We did it,"_ he cried softly in her ear. "I can't believe it."

"We did, didn't we?" Hermione pulled her head back just far enough to smile up at him before they unfurled and went into their four-way bow sequence.

Hermione had expected it to be a joyless run through the motions—perhaps her final one, at that. But as she skated off the ice, hand in hand with Draco, all she could feel was joy.

Snape met them just beyond the barrier. His expression, as always, was unreadable.

"Well?" Hermione pressed as they pulled their blade covers on again.

Snape surveyed them and held out bottles of water. One corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Magnificent."

Hermione couldn't help the grin that spread across her face, and she knew without looking that Draco had the same incredulous look on his face. Praise like that from their coach—it had to mean something.

Going into today, Hermione had no expectations. Winning or losing didn't seem to matter as much when she thought her best friend hated her. But with her hand firmly in his, Hermione suddenly wanted to win more than anything.

Stomach fluttering with a new kind of nerves, she, Draco, and Snape settled in front of the camera at the Kiss and Cry Station. Whatever was about to happen, it would be broadcast across the world for anyone to see. As if he could sense her needs, Draco placed his hand on her knee. It remained steadfast as they waited for the scores to come in.

Hermione eyed the camera and gulped a swig of water. Could the spectators see the difference between them? They had tried so hard to cover up the strain in their relationship all year. Surely someone would pick up on the little differences in their mannerisms—the way Draco's thumb circled her knee; the way his body almost melted into hers.

The two of them still needed to talk—desperately—but knowing that they had each other again, that it was going to be okay eventually, that was enough to make her smile through any outcome.

Through the continuing din of cheers, a woman's voice cut through. " _The scores, please."_

Draco's grip on her knee tightened. Hermione looped her arm around his elbow and squeezed. Beside them, Snape stiffened.

" _Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy have earned in the free dance: One hundred and four point three eight points, this season's best."_

Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat. _Their best…_

Perhaps, that meant…

She allowed herself to hope… she dared to dream—

" _They have a total score of one hundred and sixty seven point four zero points, and are currently in—"_

All the air left her lungs.

"— _first place."_

The world around them erupted in a sea of cheers and screams. It all surrounded Hermione like a blur. The only thing she could see was Draco. He had leapt out of his seat the moment their place had been announced, his hands in the air, his eyes closed in the utter bliss of triumph.

Hermione felt a hand on her shoulder—Snape. Turning, she saw a very rare smile on his face.

"Well done, Miss Granger. I _am_ proud of you."

Before she had the chance to respond, Draco had wrapped his arms around her middle and lifted her clear off her chair and into the air. He swung her around like a doll, her feet dangling several inches off the ground.

"We did it!" he whispered into her ear over and over. "We did it, Hermione. We actually did it."

Cameras followed them all the way around the rink until they reached the backstage area again. Only one couple was scheduled to perform after them, so they had a few minutes to gather themselves before making another appearance for the medal ceremony.

Because they _would_ be awarded a medal today.

Hermione had done the calculations the second their score was announced. With only one couple to go, they were guaranteed at least a silver medal. The thought that they had actually done it—earned a spot on the podium at the Junior Grand Prix Final—it was beyond joy. It was elation.

And it was only made better by the fact that they made it backstage and Draco was still holding her hand.

Their dressing room was practically silent compared to the roar of the crowd outside. It took a good few moments for Hermione's ears to stop ringing, even after they sat across from each other, surrounded by dark, velveteen curtains.

Draco was leaning back in his chair, legs splayed out in front of him, eyes closed. He seemed to really be savouring the moment. A smile danced on his lips, and Hermione was reminded once again how much she loved his smile. She had really missed it this past year. How often had she seen him scowl through an entire practice?

Relief hit her like a wave overtaking her in the ocean. They had done it. Gold or silver, they'd made it onto the podium. Not only that, but she had finally, _finally_ seen Draco smile at her again. And to her, that was worth one hundred gold medals.

A drop down the tip of her nose revealed that she had begun to cry without realising it.

The moment she sniffed, Draco opened his eyes. He drank in her appearance and sat up in his chair, concern immediately flooding his eyes.

"Are you okay?" he implored, leaning forward.

Hermione nodded and took a breath. "Yeah. I am. Just—overwhelmed, you know?"

Draco chuckled. "Yeah. I know."

They sat in silence for another minute as the next couple began their skate up on the monitor. There were so many things Hermione wanted to say—to ask, just like there were so many things she wanted to hear. She just wasn't quite sure where to start. It was a relief when Draco spoke first.

"I wanted to apologise again, Hermione. For the way I've been this year. It was beyond horrible of me to put you through that, and I can see that now."

Hermione blinked, tilting her head. "You see it _now?_ " she questioned. "Why now? What happened? Why did you make me think you hated me for an entire year? I mean—" Hermione looked down at the floor. "—did you actually hate me? Even for a while?"

Draco looked like he wanted to cry.

Leaning forward more, he moved his chair so that he sat right in front of Hermione. Their knees brushed together as he reached for her hands, grasping them in his own.

"I never, _never_ hated you Hermione. I never _could_ hate you."

"Then why, Draco? Why did you make me feel like rubbish for so long?"

Draco leaned back in his chair. He ran his hands through his hair and chewed the inside of his cheek as he seemed to consider his words. All the while, his eyes darted between her and the floor.

"It's no excuse," he began after a moment. "It really isn't, but there is a reason."

Hermione scoffed. "I would hope it wasn't just for the hell of it."

Draco shook his head. "No. No, Hermione, I would never—"

"But you did, didn't you?"

Draco grimaced. "I did."

Licking his lips, he leaned forward and took Hermione's hands again. He stroked the back of her hand softly with his thumb as he spoke.

"Two years when we didn't make the Olympics, my father was angry and disappointed. But you knew that. We both knew the kind of conversation that was waiting for me after I went home that day."

Hermione could recall the scene perfectly in her memory. She'd released Draco from a fierce hug and into his parents' waiting arms—figuratively speaking, of course. The look he'd given her over his shoulder as Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy led him to the family town car—it still haunted her. Every so often since then, she wondered if he'd been asking with his wide eyes for some sort of intervention that he had never received.

It had been some time shortly after that that Draco had turned cold toward her, spiteful and snarling at every opportunity.

She'd thought there might be a connection, but she assumed her relationship with Draco was strong enough—that he would have come to her if anything happened.

Draco continued. "Father made it very clear that night that if we didn't keep our relationship strictly professional and that if we didn't achieve satisfactory results, that he'd dissolve our partnership."

"What? Draco—"

"Not only that, Hermione. But he—he threatened to ruin your career."

Draco squeezed her hands. Judging by the intensity of his tight grasp, this had been weighing on him heavily. Hermione knew firsthand just how intimidating Lucius Malfoy could be. His words about her inadequacy still played on repeat inside her head often. When she struggled on the ice _and_ when she did well, it didn't matter. Mr. Malfoy's voice was always there.

" _You, my dear, are common… unexceptional and can be replaced easily enough."_

That, she understood—the intimidation, the humiliation, the pure fear.

"Draco, you should have come to me," Hermione implored, squeezing his hand back. "You shouldn't have pushed me away."

"Well I… I tried to just keep you at arm's length for a while. Tried to focus on skating as much as possible. But then, when we didn't make it to the final, I just knew that was the end. I knew I'd go home and Father would send you away and it would break both our hearts."

Hermione's head raced as she tried to assemble this mental jigsaw puzzle Draco had concocted over the last two years. The cruelest of his words had come last year after they didn't qualify for the 2006 Junior Grand Prix Final. It'd been her lowest moment—the moment when he called her—

"Is that why you called me a nobody?" she murmured, brows furrowed. "Were you—were you trying to drive me away so I wouldn't feel heartbroken when your father ended our partnership?"

Draco's eyes went wide and his jaw fell open slightly. "Well… yes, in so many words. I guess you could say that."

"You complete _arse_ , Draco Malfoy."

"I—what?"

"You thought that by pushing me away and treating me horribly that I wouldn't be heartbroken?"

Draco opened his mouth, but Hermione pushed on. As she spoke, her heart began to pound faster and faster against her ribcage. A persistent stinging in the corner of her eyes and the tightening of her jaw told her that she was moments away from crying, but she kept speaking.

"Can't you see what a stupid plan that was? Because believe it or not, I've been heartbroken for nearly two years."

The first teardrop dripped down her chin and onto her periwinkle blue costume.

"Do you know how many nights I cried myself to sleep, wishing you were there to hold me? That you hadn't spent the day picking fights with me instead? Do you know how many times this year I thought about just giving up? Just quitting and never having to put up with feeling like a nobody again? Because that's what _you_ did, Draco." Hermione was on her feet now, towering above Draco in her covered skates. Tears were falling freely down her burning face. But she couldn't stop now. Not when all the words and emotions she had kept bottled up for so long were finally beginning to trickle out. To his credit, Draco didn't say a word. He sat, taking in every word.

"You didn't just call me a nobody, Draco. You made me feel like one. Every decision came down to _your_ opinion. All the mistakes were _mine_. I wasn't good enough. Over and over and _over_ you said horrible things to me. And for what? So that I would finally be happy to leave you after we inevitably failed? That's the stupidest plan I've ever heard, Draco. You really hurt me. And God knows why, but I don't want to leave you. I want things to be the way they were before. Easy. Fun. _God_ , when was the last time we had fun skating together? Do you remember? Because I honestly don't."

Hermione paused and took a breath. Her eyes met Draco's, and through her blurred vision, she could see the same haunted expression on his face that he had worn two years ago after their failed attempt to make the Olympics. He looked so sad—so lost—that Hermione almost forgave him.

Almost.

"It's what I want, too," he croaked through the silence. "To love skating with you again. To be close. I-I miss my best friend."

Draco's words reverberated around the empty room. It was like all the air had been knocked out of her. Her tears turned to heavy, angry sobs and she fought to keep speaking.

"Why, then?" Hermione clutched at her sides as she fought to keep her legs from collapsing beneath her. "Why did you keep pushing me away for so long? Why did you choose now to tell me it's all been an act?"

Draco looked seconds away from tears, himself, but when he spoke, his voice was clear and strong. "I thought I could do it, you know? Make it through today without telling you. I mean, we made it through the whole season like that."

"Barely," Hermione muttered, and Draco shot a bemused half-grimace in her direction.

"You're right," he admitted. "Barely. But ever since we qualified for the final, I couldn't shake the idea that even if we did well today, I'd be miserable. We both would." Draco reached forward and held each of Hermione's hands in his own, pulling her down to him so she sat on her knees, facing him. He stretched out one of his hands and gently wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks, his eyes never leaving her face. "That's what I realised today—sitting right here. That even though this has been our most successful season yet, I can't do it again. Not like this. Not without you by my side as my friend. It would hurt to the point that it just… it wouldn't be worth it."

Hermione sniffed, and for the first time in over a year, her heart fluttered at the sight of his beautiful, grey eyes.

"Are you saying that you don't want a gold medal without me?" she asked, hints of a smile dancing at the edge of her lips.

"I don't want anything without you."

Draco chuckled, both of his hands traveling to cradle her jaw. The gesture, while small, made Hermione want to burst into tears all over again. How often had she seen _this_ Draco in her dreams? How often had she longed to see kindness in his eyes again? To hear him laugh?

And though she knew she shouldn't be so quick to forgive and forget, her heart practically beat out of her chest to dive into his arms and feel truly loved for the first time in so long.

She knew she was risking heartbreak again, but it was a risk she was willing to take.

For once, Hermione Granger was going to follow her heart.

It was more like gravity did the work for her. She didn't dive at Draco, per se. More like, she fell into him, her arms wrapping around his waist and her cheek pressed into his chest. Inhaling deeply, her nose was instantly filled with the scent that finally could bring her comfort again.

It was like coming home.

His arms were around her in an instant. He pulled her up and onto his lap and just held her like that, rocking her back and forth. His mouth sat right against her ear and he whispered, " _I'm so sorry, Hermione. So, so sorry."_

They didn't need any more words. Hermione didn't know how long they sat like that, her nestled in his arms as the last routine finished playing out on the monitor above their heads, long forgotten.

It wasn't until the telltale sound of Snape's footsteps met Hermione's ears that she reluctantly pulled away. She wiped any residual moisture from the corners of Draco's eyes and he did the same for her. By the time their coach stepped inside, they were both standing, ready to head back to the ice.

"Did something happen?" Snape asked as they made their way back up the corridor toward the rink. "You two seem… odd."

Hermione turned her head slightly and met Draco's eyes. Lacing her fingers between his and looking down at her toes, she gave a small, secret smile.

"No, sir," Draco answered, a smile tugging at his own lips. "We're just really grateful to be here. And happy, too."

"Yes," Hermione piped up. "Never better."

Snape raised an eyebrow and peered down at them over his hooked nose. "Well whatever sticks the two of you have had up your arses for the last two years, I'm glad to see that someone seems to have finally removed them. God knows that would make next season more tolerable."

Gold medals hanging around their necks, they stepped into a frenzied press room hand-in-hand thirty minutes later. Unlike press rooms they had sat in before, this one was filled to capacity with journalists and cameramen milling about, chatting in multiple languages. The silver and bronze medalists filed in after them taking seats at the long table at the front of the room as well. From the moment the room opened up for questions, she and Draco were bombarded. There were questions about this year's routines. Questions about their expectations for transitioning into the senior level. Questions about their relationship as partners.

She'd spent enough time in front of cameras by now that she felt confident answering nearly everything—even the questions about their relationship. Those had been the ones that had given her the most difficulty during the past couple years. How many times had she felt like she was lying when asked about feeling incredibly close to Draco?

Now, she answered with confidence, her fingers laced in his just below the table.

With the interviews complete, Hermione and Draco dressed in their travel clothes, gathered their things, and prepared to head back to the hotel for some much-needed rest. As they passed through the lobby of the massive sports complex, they were bombarded with a huge crowd of fans who had clearly been waiting for them to emerge from the backstage area.

People of all ages had formed a path to the door. Some carried signs with their names. Others held photographs of them or Union Jacks. A good deal of them didn't even speak English.

Hermione kept shooting Draco bemused looks as they posed for photograph after photograph. A couple of fans wanted to hug him specifically, and Hermione had to hold in laughs as a few younger girls made themselves cry when he said hello.

"How many of those girls do you think hang your photo over their beds so they can stare at it as they fall asleep?" Hermione mused as they climbed into the back of the taxi that would take them back to the hotel. When Draco turned red instead of answering, she elbowed him in the ribs. "What, you don't like having lots of girls fancy you?"

"They're kids!" he said, buckling his seatbelt. "It's weird."

Hermione continued to poke fun of Draco all the way back to the hotel. It gave her something to occupy her until they were alone again. All she wanted was to bury herself in his chest again, and she could wait just a few more minutes.

"Were we going to meet your parents for dinner?" Draco asked as they walked through the hotel lobby. "You know my parents will likely already be on their way back to London."

"Oh shoot." Hermione dug her phone out of her pocket and flipped it open. In the hustle and bustle of their victory, she hadn't seen her parents in the crowd or backstage at all. She sent Mum and Dad quick text messages asking about dinner plans before entering the elevator. Hermione was positive that on top of gushing about their victory, Dad would have plenty to say about the couple that skated to the Beach Boys song. It was his favourite band, and Dad always enjoyed that particular routine. When they reached the eighth floor, the two of them stepped out. Both of their rooms were just down the hall, but they lingered where they stood. Hermione wasn't quite sure why her feet stood rooted to the spot, but she just knew she wasn't quite ready to leave Draco's side. Not when they had only just found each other again.

Draco scratched his nose, his eyes looking up at the ceiling. "So, um… shower, then movie in my room?"

Hermione grinned. "Until we hear from my parents, sure."

Heart lighter than it had been in ages, she parted ways with Draco outside her door. The moment it closed behind her, she threw her head back and took a deep breath, savouring the moment.

They had done it. They'd actually done it. Won the Junior Grand Prix Final. And they'd done it as _them_ —not some cardboard cutout version of themselves.

If this was true happiness, Hermione wasn't sure she had ever felt it before.

After carefully placing her gold medal on her nightstand, she shed her clothes to take a quick shower and wash the day's sweat from her body. Once she was freshly scrubbed and in sweatpants, she snagged her medal—because why not?—and her phone and padded over to Draco's room.

Draco had showered quickly as well, and opened the door shortly after she knocked. His hair was no longer heavily styled, but instead, it sat damp atop his head, strands flopping over his forehead in a carelessly charming way. He, too, had opted for sweatpants.

"Now, unfortunately," Draco began as he led her inside. "The hotel TV only has movies in Italian. The good news is that I have this little beauty." He bent over and fished a portable DVD player from his suitcase.

"As much as I've been meaning to learn Italian, thank you." Hermione crawled onto the queen size bed.

"Have you really?"

Hermione shrugged. "I've thought about it."

"Of course you have, you swot. You really have an interest in everything, don't you?" Draco scooted next to her and positioned the DVD player on his lap. Beside him he opened a zippered case full of movies.

"Well it is a beautiful language. Don't you agree?" Hermione swiped the case and thumbed through until she found something she liked.

"It's only beautiful when I'm not trying to understand a movie plot."

Draco popped _Ten Things I Hate About You_ into the player and they settled beside each other on the bed.

As the movie played, Hermione could barely focus on it. Instead, she allowed herself to revel in the feeling of Draco's body beside her. How had she lived without this for so long? This was comfortable… This was like coming home.

His hand found hers a few minutes into the movie, his fingers holding tight to hers. She didn't dare let go, for fear that he wouldn't reach for her again. They watched the movie like that, not saying a word. Eventually, Hermione rolled onto her side so that her head rested on Draco's shoulder, her free hand splayed across his chest. He was warm beside her, though not soft. Dedication in the gym made sure of that. But it wasn't unpleasant, being tucked into his body. Slowly, she felt herself begin to slip away, her eyes closing as all her senses drank him in.

"Hermione!"

She woke with a start, her head still swimming with the effort it had taken to drag herself out of a deep sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up, leaning on one arm.

"What's going on?" she mumbled sleepily.

As she came to, she realised that the movie was still playing, albeit the last few minutes. Julia Stiles was reciting the poem to Heath Ledger. Beside her, Draco was holding something out to her. Squinting, Hermione realised it was her phone.

"It's your mum," Draco explained.

Hermione took the phone and flipped it open, stifling a yawn. Holding it to her ear, she let out a sleepy, "Hey, Mum. What's up?"

"Hermione?"

Hermione's eyes flew open at once. It was Mum's voice on the other line, but it was shaking.

Something was wrong.

Panic flooded Hermione's system. She adjusted her grip on the flip phone.

"Mum? What is it? Mum?"

Draco sat up, a concerned look on his face.

"Hermione, dear. I—" Sobs filled Hermione's ears. "I don't know how to tell you this, but it's Dad."

Stomach in her toes, tongue made of lead, Hermione tried to speak. Each word was harder than the last. "Mum. What's wrong with Dad?"

More sobs.

"There was a car accident. Hermione, love. He's—Dad's—he's died."

There was a brief moment where Hermione was certain she hadn't heard Mum correctly. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could form a single word, her brain caught up all at once.

"He—he's _dead?_ "

The intensified sobbing on the other end seemed to confirm her worst fears. Hermione reached out, trying desperately to hold onto something solid as her head began to spin. Her hands made contact with Draco's forearm just as blood began rushing in her ears, drowning out everything else. She was vaguely aware that she had dropped the phone and that Draco had grabbed hold of her and was calling out her name, but she seemed to have lost all control of her body.

Hermione tried to speak—to cry—to do _anything_ , but her throat had tightened to the point that she couldn't speak. Seconds passed in agony as she tried and failed over and over again to open her mouth and scream—to release some of the pain she was feeling. When she finally managed it, her stomach lurched violently. The last thing she remembered before she passed out was turning to vomit over the side of the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me. Please. 
> 
> This chapter was such a roller coaster to write and now, to send out in the world to you all. 
> 
> Poor Hermione. 
> 
> So much love to all of you. Stay safe and see you next week.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione navigates her grief with Draco by her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I broke you hearts last chapter... they will be happy again one day. I swear. A million thanks to Graceful Lioness.
> 
> TW this chapter - grief.

**March 2008**

It was a funny thing, grief. One moment, Hermione could be feeling okay, like she was living the normal life of a seventeen year-old, concerned with things like a school assignment or the stubbornness of her hair. Then she would see another father around her neighborhood or hear a song she used to sing along to in the car with her dad and suddenly, a fresh wave of pain washed over her, covering her completely, digging into the tiniest cracks in her skin until it had seeped completely through.

In that way, Hermione supposed, grief wasn't funny at all.

The first blossoms of spring bloomed around her as she sat on a park bench near her home. The air was filled with the scent of fresh earth and new beginnings. Hermione drank it all in from her spot at the corner of the play park. It really was a lovely spring. After such a long, dark winter, the soft breeze on her face was more than welcome.

It was completely unlike the harsh wind that had whipped at her hair and face on that cold December morning just days before Christmas. How long they stood at Dad's gravesite for the funeral, Hermione honestly couldn't remember. The event had been a bit of a blur, seeming to stretch on forever and yet also passing in the blink of an eye.

There had been an old, crotchety vicar who had rambled on and on.

Mum had been crying into her black, lace handkerchief.

Had she cried? She couldn't remember.

Dad's casket had been covered in dark roses. They'd stood out, blood red, against the dull, muddy earth.

Hermione hadn't been able to look for long. She'd mostly stared at her black, patent leather-covered toes.

The wind had been fierce that day. It had been painful to stand outside for more than a few minutes. While several people around her had lamented the weather, Hermione thought it rather apt.

It seemed most appropriate for the world around her to match her own tumultuous insides. If the weather had been sunny and lovely, she rather thought it might have made her angry, because how dare the world try to be beautiful when Dad wasn't there any more?

As the bitter chill saturated her with an even deeper level of grief and numbness, there was only one thing that kept her tethered. It was the strongest memory she had of Dad's funeral service—the only thing about that service that didn't trigger waves of sadness—the only thing that had felt _normal._

Draco's hand in hers, holding tight.

He could have stood in the back with his parents, but he opted to stay by her side through the whole ordeal. He was by her side as the vicar gave readings, as eulogies were spoken, and even as she sprinkled the first bit of earth over the casket. The whole time, he never let go of her hand. The steady pressure of his skin against hers didn't waver, not even once. Not even as they grew cold and wet, their fingers stiff and numb.

Draco didn't speak. He didn't need to. Just the feeling of her hand in his was enough to remind her that her world hadn't fallen apart entirely.

He held her hand all through the service, and even in the car ride back to her house for the funeral luncheon. He had insisted when his parents called out to him.

"I'm sticking with Hermione."

He'd said the words so nonchalantly, but they meant everything to her.

He was sticking with her. He wasn't going anywhere.

It hadn't been a lie.

Draco was at her side throughout the entire day. Each time a new person patted her on the back or told her that they were "so sorry," Draco squeezed her hand lightly.

" _I'm here,"_ he seemed to say with each squeeze.

It was dark outside when the last guests had gone. Her house, which had been brimming with guests for hours, now sat practically empty, its few remaining occupants weary and bone-tired. Mum retired to her room after a long hug in the living room. Hermione suspected that she was going to take melatonin and try to sleep after having one more long cry.

Part of Hermione wanted to follow Mum and climb into bed with her like she was a little girl again. But she also knew her grief would only compound if she clung to Mum through the night. She needed space to breathe.

That's why she was so grateful Draco had stayed. He hadn't asked, really. He just… didn't leave. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy had gathered themselves by the front door and were preparing to say goodbye when Draco simply informed them he would be staying. Perhaps he had felt the desperation tearing at her heart at the thought of him leaving.

Or perhaps, he just had good instincts.

Either way, when Mum went upstairs to bed and the rest of the house was completely still, Draco remained by her side.

Hermione looked around at the empty living room. Clear plastic plates and glasses still littered the space, leftover from the day. Beyond them sat photographs she'd passed by nearly every day but never really stopped to consider. Some sat on end tables or the mantle. Others hung on the wall. She never noticed just how many photos of Dad there were.

Dad graduating from university.

Dad in his wedding suit.

Dad holding baby Hermione on his shoulders.

Dad with his arms around her after their first national championships.

An overwhelming dizziness overtook Hermione as a cold, hard fact crashed over her:

She was never going to see Dad again. He only lived in pictures, now.

Hermione suddenly felt heavy. Her legs shook beneath her, and she leaned on Draco for support. Thankfully, she had taken her short heels off hours ago, and was now only left in bare feet and panty hose.

"Easy," Draco whispered, wrapping his arms around her middle. His eyes followed the same trajectory hers had, and he eyed the photos with a grimace. "Let's get you upstairs. Come on."

Draco helped her up the stairs one at a time. He paused when her legs began to shake, waiting until she was steady enough to keep going.

"Do you want to lie down?"

The thought of lying still terrified Hermione. If she laid down, she was certain her sadness would finally catch up to her in full, and she just wasn't ready for that.

Hermione shook her head, avoiding Draco's eyes.

"Do you want a bath, then?" he asked gently as they passed by the hall bathroom. "I could draw one for you."

A bath? A bath sounded nicer than lying down. But honestly, she didn't really care...

Hermione wasn't sure she had the energy to give a verbal answer, so she shrugged instead.

It seemed Draco didn't like that answer. He looked her up and down before giving her hand another squeeze.

"I'm going to draw the bath. Come on."

Again, he didn't ask. He just seemed to know what she needed. And for that, Hermione was beyond grateful.

Draco removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. She sat on the closed lid of the toilet as he bustled about, making preparations. Normally, she'd have been a bit miffed at someone rustling around in her bathroom cabinets, but she couldn't quite bring herself to care just now. She was just too… numb. After a minute, he pulled a bottle out, a triumphant smile on his face.

"Thought you might like a bubble bath," he commented, flashing the bottle in her direction. Hermione raised her eyebrows. When was the last time she had taken a bubble bath? Surely, that bottle had to be ten years old.

He then got to work. He busied himself at the tap, running his fingers through the water for a bit before positioning the stopper and pouring in two capfuls of bubble bath. As the tub filled with water, so, too did the rest of the room fill with steam. Hermione breathed in slow, purposeful lungfuls.

After a few minutes, Draco turned off the tap. The tub was now slightly overflowing with bubbles. Hermione eyed it warily. The very thought of standing up, shedding her clothing, and climbing into the tub seemed exhausting.

"Is it… okay?" Draco asked, his eyes darting between Hermione and the tub.

She nodded.

"Well, good." He rubbed his hands together before sticking them in the pockets of his trousers.

The dots in Hermione's brain connected faster than anything else had that day.

If Draco left, she would be alone. Left alone with her thoughts in the silence.

She didn't want to be alone. She couldn't be alone. Not when she had been close to breaking down all day. It was inevitable, of course—Hermione wasn't naive.

She just… the thought of that breakdown happening in the quiet solitude of the bathtub only egged on the knot in her chest.

As Draco turned to leave, her hand shot out, catching his wrist.

"Don't go," she whispered, her voice cracking from disuse. "Please."

Hermione saw the conflict in his face. He wanted to be there for her, but at the same time, he likely had no interest in seeing her naked. Or, at the very least, it would be awkward.

But she was insistent. He couldn't leave her. Not now.

Draco relented easily, turning back to her without a word. She leaned her forehead on his stomach, unable to summon the energy to stand and meet him. They stayed like that for a minute before he spoke up.

"The bath'll get cold. Come on." He wrapped his fingers around her upper arms and hoisted her. "Up you get."

Hermione reached behind her. She fumbled with the zipper on the back of her black dress for a bit, but her fingers shook too much to get a firm grasp. Noticing her struggle, Draco stepped in. He turned her gently so that her back faced him.

"I've got you."

Hermione felt the chilled metal zip slide down her spine, stopping on her lower back.

"I can turn around if you like," Draco offered. "Give you some privacy."

Hermione wasn't entirely sure why, but the idea of Draco purposefully ignoring her in that moment left her stomach filled with dread. In an almost childlike response, she shook her head vehemently as tears pooled in her eyes. "Don't want to be alone," she mumbled.

"Hermione, you won't be alone. I'll be right—"

" _Please."_ She spoke the words to the floor and gave a great sniff.

Draco sighed and reached forward to wipe away her tears with the pads of his thumbs. The gesture only coaxed more tears from her. "Okay. I won't turn around."

Hermione tried to muster the strength to shrug the black dress from her shoulders, but her tears were coming steadily now, her hands shaking more than ever. The control in her arms was so poor that every time she lifted them to remove her dress, she only shook harder. She was about to cry out in frustration when she felt two larger hands slide the garment off her shoulder.

"I've got you," he repeated in the same steady voice.

The dress pooled at her feet, and he held her steady as she stepped out of it.

Looking back on the moment, it should have registered that this was the first time he had seen her in her knickers. It should have been a bigger deal. Feeling how she felt toward her skating partner, it should have been momentous. But for some reason, even as he helped her roll her pantyhose down and unclasp her bra—he admittedly fumbled with that part a bit—all she could feel was blessed relief that there was still someone out there who could take care of her, if only for this moment.

"Okay." She heard Draco's voice shaking. "Next, these. Then let's get you in the bath." He gestured to her knickers.

Hermione managed to nod through the tears dripping down her cheeks. She wasn't sure how much longer she could stand.

Hermione stared straight ahead, feeling nothing at all as Draco kneeled to slide her knickers down her legs. She was vaguely aware of the way his eyes danced over her before darting away as he cleared his throat.

She barely noticed the pink tinge in his cheeks as he straightened up, his eyes focused on a spot over her left shoulder.

Perhaps she should have felt embarrassed to stand in front of him naked for the very first time.

Perhaps she should have been humiliated when he adjusted his trousers, his flush deepening.

But she didn't. She felt nothing at all.

When the last stitch of her clothing sat in a pile on the bathroom floor, Draco grasped one hand firmly around her waist, the other still threaded through her fingers. He helped her up and over the wall of the tub and lowered her into the water.

She hissed slightly as the heat hit her skin, seeping into her very bones. Not until that moment had she realized just how cold she had been. It made sense—it was December, after all. She sank all the way up to her chest. The bubbles hid all her important bits. Not that it mattered anymore. Draco had seen all of her, and besides, judging by the look on his face, her body was the farthest thing from his mind.

He had moved to sit beside her just outside the tub. He leaned on his elbows, his chin resting on his hands as he frowned at her. Was he upset with her for making him help her with the bath? Did he feel obligated to stay even though he really wanted to go home? Guilt gnawed away at her insides as she took in his unhappy expression.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, sniffing.

Draco furrowed his brows. "Sorry for what, Hermione?"

She shrugged. "For making you take care of me. I could probably do this myself, honestly. And look at you. You've ruined your clothes." She eyed the wrinkles and splashes on his shirt and trousers with increasing weariness.

"Don't be ridiculous. No one is making me do anything. I want to be here. I want to take care of you."

Hermione sniffed again. "Still…" She hugged her knees to her chest and laid her cheek on top of them. "I just… you shouldn't have to see me like this."

"See you like what? Sad?"

"Don't play stupid, Draco."

He grimaced and reached forward, his hand landing on her cheek. She felt her skin heat up under her touch. "It doesn't matter to me, Hermione. You're my friend. My _best_ friend. I'm going to take care of you. Seeing you like this... it's nothing. It doesn't matter to me."

His words should have comforted her, but they only made the guilt burrow deeper into her chest. As the sensation swelled, her throat tightened once more, and she felt tears prickle at the corner of her eyes.

"It's okay to cry, you know," Draco murmured, his hand still on her cheek. "I saw you didn't earlier. But you can cry in front of me. I don't mind."

It was almost as though she had been waiting for permission, because the moment the words left his mouth, it was like a dam broke inside of her.

She cried for her Dad, whose life had been taken in less than a second.

She cried for her Mum, who hadn't stopped crying for a week.

She cried for the life she had known. All of that was gone now. It all seemed rather pointless without Dad there to cheer for her and pick her up at her lowest moments.

She sobbed like she had never sobbed before, ugly and unrelenting until all the air had vanished from her lungs and she was left gasping. When that happened, Draco's hand moved from her cheek to her back, where he rubbed gentle circles into her wet skin until her sobs turned gradually to hiccups.

When her tears finally dried and her skin began to prune, Draco stood and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I'll be back in just a moment, okay?" he promised.

She barely managed a nod. When had she gotten so tired? Every muscle in her body felt wrung out, as though she had just sprinted a great distance.

Draco slipped out of the bathroom, only to return two minutes later, a pile of fresh clothes in hand.

"I wasn't sure what you wanted," he began, setting the clothes on the toilet lid. "So I just grabbed what looked comfortable."

With the same care as before, he pulled her from the bath and wrapped a large, fluffy towel around her shaking form. Thankfully, her hair was still up in a bun. Drying it would have been a nightmare.

He pulled the plug to let the water drain and then dug through the pile of clothing he brought.

"Here," he said, kneeling beside her with fresh, powder blue knickers. "Hopefully these'll do."

She stepped into them, followed by a pair of soft, stretchy sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt from one of the competitions they attended last year. Then, arm still around her waist, he led her from the bathroom and into bed.

Draco kicked off his shoes and laid down on the bed next to her. Hermione tried to open her mouth to thank him and apologise again, but her bed was so warm and soft that she found herself drifting off almost immediately. Eyelids heavy, she rolled over and curled into Draco's side, lacing her fingers with his to give him an appreciative squeeze. He squeezed back, wrapping his other arm around her shoulders and pressing a kiss against her forehead. Draco's heart beat steadily under her ear and she closed her eyes to let it lull her to sleep.

That bath became her only solid memory from the day of Dad's funeral. Everything else about that day was still too difficult to think about, but remembering the soft way Draco had cared for her without even being asked—that became the recollection she clung to as the passage of time began to dull her grief. Hermione reminisced about that bath whenever she had a quiet moment, much like now.

Hermione sat on the park bench at the edge of the play park, watching the world go by without really seeing it. Although her eyes stared straight ahead, her mind was on the one bright light in her life. Draco would be here soon. He was off taking care of some business, but had promised to meet her here so they could eat dinner together. In his absence, she heard his voice clearly in her mind.

" _I've got you."_

It hadn't been a lie. Ever since their win at the Junior Grand Prix Final in Italy nearly four months ago, Draco hadn't left her side for more than a day or two. He slept over at her house most nights. The two of them ate meals together, studied, played games, took walks, watched movies… anything to keep busy. Anything to keep her mind from wandering back to the untouched neckties in her parents' closet or the jar of mixed nuts Dad bought for the plane ride to Italy but forgot in the cupboard.

All around her were reminders that she didn't have a dad anymore—that there was a hole in her life that could never be filled again. And as much as Hermione intellectually understood that she needed to process her dad's death, the thought of actually confronting her loneliness and despair still made her stomach churn.

That's how she had come to rely on Draco so much. He was the perfect distraction: witty and kind and always there to lean on.

"Hermione!"

From across the play park, Hermione saw Draco's familiar figure approaching, his arm raised and waving. She returned the wave, a faint smile flickering on her lips.

"How was the interview?" she asked as he drew nearer and sat on the bench beside her. Draco looked a bit more dressed up than usual. Instead of the usual athletic trousers and t-shirts he sported when they were together, he was wearing a white button up shirt and a grey blazer. The moment he sat down, he unbuttoned the top of his shirt and ran his fingers through his hair, leaning against the back of the bench.

"It was all right, I suppose. Had to clear up some details about next season."

Hermione nodded. "And… what were those details?"

Draco shrugged, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Just that we'll be heading back to Sheffield to train again. And they were asking if we wanted to skate at the senior level this season, but I just said we weren't disclosing our decision right now."

It was a subject they'd touched on a few times recently, but she kept dancing around giving a real commitment. They were old enough and certainly qualified to skate at the senior level, but it would mean another viciously intense summer if they wanted to make the leap successfully.

And Hermione just wasn't sure how much intensity she could handle right now.

Draco and all of their coaches had been understanding about postponing her answer, but they needed to move back to Sheffield to begin training soon. Neither Hermione nor Draco had set foot on the ice since their win back in December, and they were sure to be rusty. As much as Hermione knew she needed to just jump back in, she was confronted each time with the simple fact that the last time she had skated, her dad had been alive.

And now he wasn't.

"Thanks for covering for me again," Hermione muttered, turning to watch some neighborhood children play on the swings. "I'll start doing interviews again soon. I promise."

Draco waved his hand, dismissing her concern with a smirk. "It's all right. You know how much the camera loves me."

Hermione rolled her eyes and shoved him with her elbow. It felt nice to joke. No one else joked around her anymore.

"But seriously," Draco continued. "This interview wasn't nearly as fun as the talk shows. This one was all business."

Even though Hermione knew that he was just trying to downplay his excitement at all the attention, she appreciated it anyway.

"Who knows?" She leaned into Draco's side, laying her head on his shoulder. "Maybe I'll come with you the next time you do a talk show. It sounds like fun."

"It _is_ fun. It'll be great when you can come with me. But take your time. Only when you're ready."

She nodded and nuzzled her head into his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her, drawing her just a little closer.

That had been another thing that had changed in the last few weeks. For nearly two years, Draco had been cold and callous toward her to the point that her heart had almost broken. The only time they touched or talked was when absolutely necessary.

What fortuitous timing, really, that Draco had broken down and explained that it had been an act all along. Hermione told herself at the time that she'd build up her trust slowly—bit by bit until they could fully depend on each other again.

Hours later, when Mum called to tell her about Dad, all that had gone out the window immediately and without question. Draco hugged and rocked her as she cried herself to sleep, only leaving her side to clean up the vomit on the floor. He'd been nothing but the truest of friends since that day. Everything he promised at the Final, he made good on. He had gone above and beyond the call of duty for a best friend in every respect. He'd sat with her while she cried, ordered her food, stroked her hair as she slept, watched stupid movies with her. He'd helped her with her bath.

If that wasn't enough for him to prove himself, Hermione wasn't sure what was.

Draco was by her side now. That was what mattered.

"Want to head back?" she asked as the warm breeze began to cool. "I think there's some curry leftovers we can eat for dinner."

With a smile, Draco moved his arm and stood. "Come on, then. I'm knackered."

Even now, the house had the same stillness that it had adopted right after Dad's death. Stepping inside was like stepping into a museum. Or a morgue. It was like time had stopped within the walls after that bitter December day. Specifically, time had stopped in the master bedroom. And that stillness seeped in the rest of the house like a noxious gas, trapping the house in a continuous sense of melancholy.

Today was no different. As Hermione and Draco entered through the front door and toed off their shoes as usual, they were met with complete silence. And that would have been acceptable if they were alone in the house.

But they weren't.

Mum was here. Mum was _always_ here. She just didn't come out of her room.

Mum hadn't been… _Mum_ since that day in December. After the funeral, she decided to take some time off of work. At first, she'd puttered around the house and watched telly with Hermione and Draco some. They ordered takeaway and talked about superficial things like the weather and the sugar content of Draco's favourite foods. But as the weeks went on, she spent more and more time in her room with the door shut. Soon, she didn't come out to watch telly or lecture Draco at all. Weeks and then months passed with no signs of her returning to work.

Dad's death had broken her heart, but Mum's reaction only worsened the sting.

Parents were supposed to comfort their children through grief, weren't they? So why did Hermione feel like she had been left to fend for herself over the past months? She had Draco to lean on, so she didn't allow herself to complain too much. And besides, Mum's lack of interest in leaving bed wasn't really her fault. It was all brain chemistry. Hermione knew this. But still, she couldn't help the bitterness that churned in her stomach each time she walked past Mum's closed door.

Walking into the silent house now, the familiar sting of anger bit at her insides, if only for a few seconds. As if he could sense her agitation, Draco gave them direction.

"Right," he said, reaching for a hanger to put away his light jacket. "I'll heat up the curry if you want to pick at a movie to watch?"

Hermione nodded and headed for the telly, glad to have a task to keep her busy.

Was Mum asleep? Had she even noticed her coming and going from the house today?

She shook the thoughts from her head as she knelt by the shelf of DVDs.

"How do you feel about _Pirates of the Caribbean_?" she called into the kitchen.

"Didn't we just watch that last week?"

"Fair."

She rifled some more, making sure to pass by any movies that were too depressing. "What about Monty Python? My dad—"

She had been about to say that _Dad loved Monty Python_ , but cut herself off before she got sucked into a memory that might send her spiraling.

Draco stuck his head out from the kitchen as if he had sensed her distress. An unintelligible expression on his face, he responded curtly. "No thanks. I'm not a fan."

By the time Draco made his way back to the couch with two plates of piping hot curry in hand, Hermione had made her selection. It was an old favourite—one that she saved for times she needed extra comfort.

Granted, she had watched this film at least four times since January. But Draco always seemed to make an exception for this title. He barely managed to hide his bemused grin as the Golden Gate Bridge came into the shot.

" _Princess Diaries_?"

She settled beside him on the couch and accepted the plate and a fork. " _Princess Diaries._ "

As they watched, it occurred to Hermione, not for the first time, that Mia had also recently lost her father. Granted, it was different from the books and true, in the film version she was never close to him, but still. It was another odd sort of parallel between her and Mia Thermopolis to add to her ever-expanding list of similarities.

The hair. The slight awkwardness. The dead dad.

If only she had a grandmother like Julie Andrews to swoop in and tell her she was really the princess of a tiny European country.

As the movie played out, she and Draco set their empty plates aside, and Hermione took her usual place, curled into Draco's side. If he minded any of this—watching the movie, cuddling with her, giving up his entire off-season—he never said a word. Hermione wasn't sure what would make her more guilty: if he continued to cater to her without complaint or if he started to finally express the frustration and boredom he surely felt at being made to be the companion of a grieving girl.

Either way, guilt did gnaw away at her, nearly constantly.

"Are you okay with this?" she wondered aloud as Mia ruined the dinner party on screen.

"Okay with what? Watching _Princess Diaries_ again?" Strands of Draco's hair flopped in his face a little as he looked down at her. She couldn't help notice that he looked charming like that.

She grinned, though she felt no joy. "No. Well, I mean—sort of. I meant, are you okay with spending your time like this?" Hermione pulled away from Draco's arms, crossing her legs as she turned sideways on the couch to face him. "It's the off-season and you could be traveling or lounging around your family's manor or clubbing—"

Draco reached out and brushed her hair over her shoulders. "Everything I want is right here."

Hermione blinked. "You want to watch a movie you've seen a hundred times with a girl whose dad died and whose mum can't even get out of bed?"

Draco snorted and moved to sit cross-legged as well. "No, I mean that it doesn't matter to me what we do this off-season. What matters is that I'm here for you."

Hermione felt the familiar prickle of oncoming tears in her eyes, but she pushed them down. "What about skating? My mum, I mean, she clearly doesn't care if I get out on the ice. But I imagine your parents have gone a bit ballistic with you here all the time."

Draco grimaced a bit. "They're not too happy about it, no. But I made it very clear to them in December where my priorities lie." He reached out and squeezed her knee. "And that we'd get back to the ice when we could, but there was no point skating when there's no soul in it."

He was, of course, referencing their last two years on the ice. Despite doing generally well, there had been no soul in any of their competitions or performances, save for the very last. Hermione never again wanted to feel like that when she skated.

"I see." She looked from Draco's hand on her knee to his face—the same face that had been painted with concern from the moment of that horrific phone call. "And what if—" she whispered. "—I don't feel ready to get back to the ice for a long time?"

The question hung in the air between them, stiff and awkward. The thought had been dancing on the tip of her tongue for a while, but the relief she felt to have it out in the world was short-lived. Hermione waited for Draco to have any sort of reaction.

She waited for him to be annoyed. Or maybe even angry.

She knew he was still capable of those reactions—she'd skated with him for over seven years and knew the kind of fuss he could kick up when reality didn't match his vision. More recently, he'd shown his volatile side when fans had crowded her back in February on a short venture to a café. He'd practically roared at them to leave her alone.

Part of her wanted him to react that way. Maybe then she'd know it was still him in there.

"Then we wait."

Hermione blinked again. "We—wait?"

"I mean, what do you expect me to do?"

"I dunno." She shrugged. "Find another partner? One without so much baggage."

Hermione's shoulders slumped slightly as her own self-pitying words sunk in.

"Absolutely not. _You're_ my partner, Hermione."

"But what about your father?" she hastened.

" _What about_ my father?" Draco snapped. "He doesn't control me. I won't take a new partner, no matter what he threatens to do."

Though Draco's reassurances warmed her heart, Lucius's cruel words and vile sneer flashed in Hermione's mind, overshadowing any comfort. It wasn't until she felt hands grasp at her upper arms that Mr. Malfoy's presence vanished from her mind. Draco leaned forward, his eyes shining and trained on her with an intensity rare for even him.

"If we have to take the year off, so be it. I'm not going anywhere."

Hermione couldn't help the way her body reacted. She lunged forward into his arms, her body falling completely on top of his.

"Thank you," she whispered into his chest as his arms wrapped securely around her. "I don't know what I would do without you."

As she fiercely clung to Draco, she knew quite plainly that it was the truth. If this had all happened when she and Draco were still at odds with each other, Hermione wouldn't have been surprised if she ended up like Mum, hopelessly sad and aimless.

But that wasn't her reality.

Her reality was warm and solid and right beside her.

And he wasn't going anywhere.

For the first time in months, Hermione saw a glimmer of light in the neverending black.

Draco opened his mouth to make some sort of joke, she imagined, but she cut him off, still speaking into his chest.

"No, I'm serious, Draco. Thank you. For everything. You've really taken care of me. Even done some pretty embarrassing stuff." Hermione felt her cheeks heat up at the memory of Draco helping her into the bath. Above her, Draco stilled. She pushed on, leaning into her momentum. "I'd be a mess if you weren't here, honestly. I wouldn't have made it through all these months without you. Hell, I wouldn't have made it through Dad's funeral without you. "

"I'm sure that's not true, Hermione." She could feel his lips moving against her hair. "You're the strongest person I know. You put up with my bullshit for two years."

"And you put up with a lifetime of bullshit from your father."

Hermione felt Draco draw back before he muttered, "Touché."

"Just because I'm strong doesn't mean I don't need you." She scooted so she could see his face. "I needed you before. I need you now. I'm going to keep needing you. And you telling me that you're not going anywhere? That really means the world to me."

Hermione wasn't sure how it was possible, but Draco's arms held her even tighter as she spoke.

"I'd do anything for you, Hermione. You're my best friend." He tilted his head to smile down at her. "And that's not just a line I tell the press, I swear."

Hermione sighed and snuggled deeper into Draco's chest. _Princess Diaries_ kept playing on the telly in front of them, though her attention faded in and out. She was only vaguely aware when Mia smeared the ice cream cone all over Lana's cheerleading uniform. Instead, her thoughts drifted to the boy lying beneath her.

Draco's eyelids started to droop shortly after their conversation, and he fell asleep right before the beach party scene. Though vestiges of guilt crossed her mind, she brushed them off and allowed herself to stare at his sleeping face.

He would never admit it, but Hermione could tell that all these months of looking after her was taking a toll on him. There were bags under his eyes and his brow furrowed in his sleep. Was he worrying even in his sleep?

Guilt flared up inside of her once more.

Draco had done so much for her. He had practically given up his whole life for her these past few months. And what could she offer in return? The company of a melancholy girl seemed like poor thanks for all that he had done.

But then, why was he doing all this in the first place? His actions were a far cry from what she might have expected from the selfish boy who had called her a 'tutu-wearing ninny' all those years ago. What had changed then?

Obviously, they were friends. More than friends— _best_ friends.

But sometimes when she was left alone with her thoughts—times like now—she wondered if perhaps, they could be even more.

It used to only be a passing thought when she was much younger, squashed quite firmly by the two years she spent convinced that Draco hated her. But in these past few months, as they reconnected through her grief, something had shifted within her. It was subtle, to be sure, but burgeoning more and more with each passing day.

Hermione's gaze lingered on the details of Draco's face. The way the strands of his blond hair fell across his forehead; the gentle curve of his nose and the length of his eyelashes; the plush, pink lips that tugged a little as he slept.

What would it be like to kiss those lips?

They'd kissed before, but only ever on the cheek or forehead or the backs of their hands. Never _there_.

Hermione moved her hand to trace each of his features slowly, purposefully, careful to keep her fingertips from grazing his skin and waking him up. He had long grown into the features she used to think were too pale or pointy. His skin was like alabaster and his jawline left her throat dry.

Yes, Hermione supposed he really was handsome.

Carefully, not daring to breathe, she allowed her fingertips to brush lightly against his cheek.

He didn't stir.

Feeling boldness rise in her chest, she trailed her fingers down, circling his lips and tracing his jaw.

It was hard to describe her next thought. Or rather, it was hard to describe how she came to that thought. In some ways, it felt like a train crashing into her, swift and inevitable. In other ways, it felt more like a wave gently lapping onto the shore, leaving the realisation behind with the tide.

Perhaps it was both?

As Hermione's thumb lingered on Draco's lower lip, she knew all at once something she had not known moments before.

She loved Draco.

She _loved_ him.

She wanted nothing more than to lean down and plant a kiss on those lips, wanted to watch as his eyes fluttered open, as he realized what she had done, and then sit up to catch her lips again.

Hermione loved— _no_ , she was _in love_ with her best friend.

What did that mean? Did he even feel the same way about her? He had asserted so many times that they were friends. That he would do anything for her because of their friendship.

But was he like her? Did he crave more? What would that be like? To kiss him and hold him, not as a friend, but as someone he loved. It seemed improbable—impossible, even, that he would feel the same way.

But what if he did?

Hermione imagined taking to the ice with Draco, imagined him kissing her when they finished their performances. Imagined letting him kiss her everywhere when they shared a bed at night. A flush rose on her chest, spreading up her neck and splashing across her cheeks, but she didn't dare tear her eyes away from Draco.

Here, now, while he was sleeping, she could pretend. At least for a little while. She could imagine the possibilities.

The sounds of padding feet broke Hermione from her thoughts. Shaking her head as if her imaginings could be flung away, she sat up and peered through the dark at the stairs. After a moment, Mum appeared.

She was wearing the same dressing gown she'd been wearing for two weeks. As she passed by the small light in the hallway, Hermione caught a glimpse of her gaunt face. Gone were the cheerful, round cheeks Mum had always sported. Her eyes, which had once been filled with overflowing warmth, were now dull. Almost unseeing.

Mum rambled haphazardly to the kitchen. Her movements were so stiff and unnatural, it was almost as though she was sleepwalking or very nearly catatonic. Guilt began to fill her heart once again as she watched Mum pour herself a glass of water and drink it down. This wasn't the time to be thinking about something as superfluous as romance. Something as risky.

Because that's what love was, really. A risk.

Mum had loved Dad so much. Hermione saw it in the way she looked at him, in the way she always kissed him before one of them left the house, and in the way they sometimes danced in the living room to the songs they liked in University.

Dad had been her whole world. And now that he was gone, it was like Mum's soul had gone from her body as well. All that was left behind was the shell of a woman who had once been vivacious and affectionate.

Could this be what came from loving someone? Was this the result in the end? Loneliness and despair?

Because in the end, in one way or another, everyone left.

Sure, she loved Draco now, but they wouldn't be skating partners forever. They'd retire one day and part ways and that would be that.

Or maybe he'd grow cold again and their partnership would end sooner.

As Mum's footsteps faded away back up the stairs, Hermione turned back to Draco. He slumbered on as the final scene of _Princess Diaries_ played—the one where Mia, despite her insecurities and mistakes, finally kissed Michael.

Mia got the boy, yes.

But she was also a princess.

As much as she and Mia had in common, Hermione's life wasn't a fairytale. It never had been. Draco wouldn't suddenly want to sweep her off her feet after watching her cry and seeing her struggle to even bathe. And even if he did, there was no way for it to last. After all, she nearly lost his friendship because of pressure from Draco's father. Who's to say it wouldn't happen again?

Hermione's eyes shot to the stairs where Mum had disappeared.

And even if it didn't…

Even if Draco, by some miracle, _did_ love her—even if they were happy and spent many years together—even if they one day got married and had children. Even if she got everything she dared to dream of when her mind wandered, love would still end. Death's cold hand could steal him away far too young and leave her alone to be just a hollow shell of a woman.

_No._

She couldn't end up like Mum. She wouldn't. She _refused._

And if that meant swallowing her feelings and pushing them aside, then that's what she would do. Draco's friendship was too important to lose. Better to hold him at arm's length than to let herself love him as Mum had loved Dad.

Hermione reached out and brushed her fingers over Draco's cheek.

She could do it. She could look at him and not love him.

She could look at him and only see her skating partner. Her best friend.

Settling back down onto the couch, Hermione laid her head back on his chest. Draco sighed in his sleep, smacking his lips and pulling her closer.

She wouldn't love him.

"Goodnight," she whispered into the fabric of his white shirt.

She wouldn't love him.

Draco nuzzled the top of her head.

She wouldn't love him. She would wake up tomorrow and tell him that she was ready to skate again. And that would be the end of it.

She would not become her mother.

She would not love Draco Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FLAAAAAAAAAANGST
> 
> Well our Hermione is no longer clueless. But... it's still an idiots to lovers story for a reason. 
> 
> On an IRL note, I will not be posting an update next week. I need to strengthen my number of buffer chapters haha. 
> 
> But I promise that chapter 18 will be worth the wait. 
> 
> And that's all I've got to say about that. 
> 
> 'Til the 21st. 
> 
> Biscuits


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione return back to the rink and prepare to skate at the senior level for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for allowing me to take a week off from posting. I had a friend over and just needed a breather. The good news is that I've signed up to write a lot of words for this story for NaNoWriMo, so hopefully, there won't be any more delays. 
> 
> I'm so grateful for the responses I got after the last couple of angst-ridden chapters. 
> 
> Major thanks as always to Graceful Lioness.
> 
> And now, without further ado, I present Chapter 18. Enjoy!

Summer 2008

The alarm beside Hermione's bed blared, shocking her awake. She rolled over and squinted at the clock. Not that she really needed to double check.

Sure enough, it was four in the morning. The same as it was every day.

Rubbing her eyes and fighting back a yawn, Hermione raised her arms and stretched out her torso, feeling her back pop in a few places. She then shifted her body and poked her bedfellow in the shoulder.

"Draco? Come on. Time to get up."

He groaned into his pillow. Stubborn boy.

"Come on," she repeated, shoving him a little. Draco continued to groan as she rolled out of bed and trudged across the room to retrieve her gym clothes. Waking up beside him wasn't like it used to be. He no longer rushed to leave in the morning; instead, he lingered, digging deeper into the mattress and refusing to get up.

Hermione eyed him from across the room. She made sure to double check that he was still facing away from her as she changed into her gym clothes. While it was true that he'd seen her naked and she wasn't exactly self-conscious about dressing in front of him, the idea of Draco turning his head and seeing her changing tied her stomach in knots.

Thankfully, he didn't budge. By the time Hermione had laced up her trainers, Draco still hadn't moved. Crossing the room again, she leaned over the bed and peered at his face. Eyes closed and mouth hanging open, he had clearly fallen back asleep.

"Draco! Get up!" She shook him until his eyes snapped open. "Do you want me to do more reps than you and get ahead? Because I will."

Hermione knew that if there was one thing that could make Draco get out of bed, it was competition. Ever since they started training in the gym together in May, they had tried to oust each other countless times. Who could do more push-ups? Who could hold planks the longest? It was like they were kids again, pushing each other to their limits just for the fun of it.

Their latest competition began when Draco asserted that Hermione wasn't very good at lifting.

"Not that you need to be," he explained as she had turned visibly upset. "You need core strength and flexibility. I need to do the heavy lifting."

Draco may have liked a good competition, but Hermione loved to win. And to be right. Over the past couple of weeks, she focused more on lifting than ever before. Each day, they both kept track of their reps. So far, Draco out-lifted her nearly every day. But Hermione was catching up. Even just one day away from the gym and her partner would fall behind.

Despite his sleepiness, Draco did the math.

"Right. I'm getting up," he grumbled, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "Can't let you win, can I?"

Her mouth twitching in a secret smile, Hermione turned on her heel and marched out of the room to brush her teeth and give Draco some space to stretch and head back to his room to change.

Several minutes later, they headed to one of the athletic complex's training gyms side-by-side. Their footsteps echoed together as they walked down flights of stairs and across the sky bridge. It felt nice to be in sync with Draco again. They'd felt off for so long; there had been a niggling worry in the back of Hermione's head that when they moved back to Sheffield to train, there would be an air of awkwardness to their relationship, given their extended break and their evolving dynamic.

He had seen her at her most vulnerable, after all. Grief-stricken, melancholy, and naked—he'd seen it all.

Yet, he was still here, training at the gym with her before the crack of dawn.

If anything, the last few months had strengthened their bond. But what she appreciated the most was the way he treated her since returning to Sheffield: exactly the same.

Tonks and their other dance coaches tiptoed on eggshells around her, checking on her at least ten times per practice, asking if she was okay, asking if she needed a break, asking if she needed anything.

Hermione considered it thoughtful at first; she was grateful for the slow, careful start to the season. But when her teachers spent half their time babying her instead of pushing her to her limits like they were supposed to, her jaw began to clench every time they spoke to her in that condescending tone she came to hate.

As though he could read her mind, Draco seemed similarly annoyed whenever teachers paused their lessons. But unlike Hermione, he wasn't very good at masking it.

"You know," he said particularly loudly between run throughs of their jazz routine, "we'd be much further along if you stopped treating Hermione like she's made of glass and let us actually practice for more than a few minutes at a time."

He glared at Ms. McKinnon out of the corner of his eye, though he still didn't turn to face her. "I would hate for my father to hear about this, given how much he has invested in our success."

Hermione watched as their instructor's face paled.

Madam Sprout never treated her strangely after that.

Which was exactly what she wanted.

Hermione immersed herself in her training as best as she could. She found that when her mind and body were occupied, she didn't have the time or energy to dwell on Dad. So that's how it had to be.

Early wake up.

Work out.

Dance.

Skate.

Sleep.

Repeat.

Hermione loved routine. She had always thrived on it. And this routine had been good for her. The first few weeks back at training, she felt re-energised. Having something to do—a goal to work towards—it was like coming back to life.

Like she could breathe again.

Like she had hope again.

And that had been wonderful for a time.

But as the weeks passed, Hermione began to wake with aching muscles and a sluggish mind. When she looked in the mirror, she saw bags under her eyes and spots on her chin.

"You look like shit, Hermione," Draco had told her one morning last week.

Hermione had just rolled her eyes. She could always count on Draco to be brutally honest, even first thing in the morning. He sat in his sleep shirt and boxer shorts, his legs planted on the floor beside her bed.

"I could say the same about you."

Liar.

Draco never looked like shit, even first thing in the morning. Or with sweat dripping down his face at the gym.

By the time Hermione finished working with free weights and moved on doing rotational core exercises, Draco was already covered in sweat. She allowed herself to stare a bit as she crossed the gym floor. There was no way he noticed her wandering eyes. He was working with the larger free weights on the opposite side of the floor. With each bicep curl, he gave a small grunt and his pale skin reddened a bit more.

It was almost hypnotising, watching Draco lift. He looked so singularly focused on his task, eyes unblinking, mouth set, nostrils flaring with each deep breath he took. Her eyes traveling down, Hermione took in the way his muscles flexed with each repeating movement of his arms and the broadness of his shoulders… the curve of his spine under the workout shirt that clung to his form… the arse she knew was tight under those gym shorts…

Hermione shook her head, trying to rid herself of the chills running up her spine. This was not the time or the place or the person. She'd sworn off all romantic feelings toward her skating partner. It wasn't worth the risk to her heart and to her mind.

Still, she reasoned, her eyes still glued to his fit form, attraction wasn't the same as romance. Surely the two could be separated.

She could enjoy looking at him, at the least.

"—you okay?"

Hermione blinked. "What? Sorry."

Draco had paused his bicep curls, and had twisted his torso to face her. "You're just spacing out, and I was wondering if you were okay."

Chuckling softly, Hermione grimaced and continued on her path toward the Smith Machine. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just lost in thought is all."

It wasn't exactly a lie…

Draco nodded and reached for a towel to wipe off his face. He spoke again as she adjusted the weights on the machine. "Do you need a spot?"

"Erm, yes. Please. That'd be nice."

Draco tossed the towel over his shoulder and made his way over to her. The closer he got, the more she thought about the thin sheen of sweat still covering his skin, wondering how it might taste…

Ugh. What was wrong with her brain?

Hermione got in position, squatting beneath the bar so she could support it with her shoulders.

"You got it?" she heard Draco ask from behind her.

"Yep."

She straightened her knees and began to support the full weight with her body. It was amazing how far she'd come in a few months. It wasn't that she hadn't trained before, because it sometimes felt like that's all she'd done since age eleven. Earlier, if she counted her intense ballet training. But weight training was a unique experience. It made her feel powerful and in control of her body in a way she hadn't before. She liked seeing the muscles developing in her arms and legs.

As she dipped down and rose again, Hermione found that there was one other part of this experience she liked.

Draco, standing right behind her, currently had a front row seat to ogle her arse all he wanted. The thought was an enticing one, albeit she had no idea if that was something Draco was even doing, or wanted to do.

Still… she liked the idea.

Because attraction was not romance.

"Are you doing okay?" Malfoy's voice was low. "You seem quiet."

Hermione furrowed her brow and spoke out into the empty gym. "I mean—" She squatted. "—It's not like I'm focused or anything." She squatted again.

"No, I—" She heard Draco sigh. "I mean, you're not making any noises. I wondered if you'd stopped breathing for a second."

Hermione couldn't quite distinguish whether he was actually concerned or being sarcastic.

"Still alive." She dipped down again. "Definitely breathing."

"Good. Because I couldn't rightly call this a fair competition if I'm competing for most lifts with someone who's fainted."

Hermione realigned the weights with their resting place on the Smith Machine and ducked under the bar. She then turned and folded her arms, popping her hip out slightly.

"Well then, I should let you know that my total is up to four hundred and seventy-two."

"Six hundred and three." Draco smirked and wiped his brow with his towel again. "Good effort, though."

Hermione cursed at him all the way back to the dormitories, through lunch, and even as they laced up their skates for the afternoon.

"You're really just a sore loser, aren't you?" Draco tapped his toe pick lightly on the ground. "That hasn't changed since we were children."

"You're one to talk," she fired back, the corners of her lips lifting. "Do you remember when we tried to see who could do the longest twizzle on the ice? I won and you pouted about it for four days straight."

"Your memory must be foggy." Draco held out his hand and helped her to her feet.

"My memory is spot on and you know it."

"Says the girl who forgot to lace up her skates."

"That was one time!"

"Ahem!"

Hermione whipped her head around to face the only person who could silence them with the clearing of his throat.

"I'm glad to see you're especially… spirited this afternoon, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger."

Hermione fought back the urge to snort. Snape never looked particularly glad of anything, particularly when they were bickering like this.

"May I introduce—" He turned and gestured to another man just behind him. "—an old colleague of mine. Mr. Lupin."

There was a slight pinch of disdain in Snape's face as he spoke. After working with this coach for eight years, she could tell when something was upsetting him. And right now, that something was their guest.

Mr. Lupin, on the other hand, showed no signs of disdain at all. He smiled jovially and extended his hand, first to her, then to Draco.

"Please, call me Remus."

Hermione felt her stomach lurch a bit at the thought of calling an adult by their first name.

"And to what do we owe the pleasure, Remus?" Draco leaned on the barrier of the rink. He was trying to act nonchalant about someone new sitting in on their practice, but Hermione knew him better. He was practically shaking in his boots on the inside, wondering who this man was, and what they had done wrong to merit a visit from him.

She reached for his hand.

Oddly, Remus's eyes followed the action, his eyebrows raised in apparent interest. If he had thoughts on the matter, however, he said nothing.

"I am here to assist you." Remus placed his hands behind his back and continued to smile pleasantly at them. "I am told that since you are both eighteen, you will be competing in the senior level for the first time this year. Is that correct?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione piped up before Draco said something disrespectful.

"Well then, surely you must know how much stiffer the competition will be, and how much you will need to improve in every aspect of your performance in order to succeed."

"What are you trying to say?" Draco drew his hand away from Hermione's and folded his arms against his chest. Hermione fought the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

Remus chuckled. "All I'm saying is that I'm here to help with a specific part of your skating that Severus tells me you've never worked on before."

When silence followed his words, Remus continued.

"Severus tells me that the two of you are excellent technical skaters. I happen to agree—I watched your performance from December at the Junior Grand Prix Final. Stunning, really. But there is always room for improvement, is there not?"

"Absolutely." Hermione straightened, brows raised in anticipation. Without even looking, she knew Draco was rolling his eyes at her.

"Very good." Remus clapped his hands together. "First, before we officially begin, I'd like you to show me your Original Dance for the upcoming season. Off you go."

She and Draco skated to the center of the rink and assumed their starting positions, her palm brushed against his cheek, his hands planted firmly around her waist. When the first notes of piano signaled the start of Fever, their musical selection for this year, Hermione allowed muscle memory to guide her. This dance was slower than ones they'd done before. Each movement felt purposeful. To match the music, it needed to be sharp and precise, yet appear languid and relaxed to anyone watching.

As usual, she and Draco skated with precision. Not a foot or elbow was out of place, every position hit on cue.

When the music faded and the two of them were left in each other's arms, chests heaving and another layer of sweat on their skin, they were met with one unique thing.

Applause.

Snape never clapped for them, even when their routines were perfect. Hermione whipped her head toward the sidelines where he always watched. As expected, Snape remained stoic, his arms crossed and his face expressionless.

Beside him, however, Remus was clapping his hands together, a closed-mouth smile on his face.

"Well done, you two." He beckoned them over, his smile never fading. "I can see that you are excellent skaters. There's no doubt in my mind that your technical scores this year will be outstanding."

"Thank you," answered Hermione as Draco bent over the barrier to grab their water bottles. "It's nice to know that our hard work is paying off."

"And it is. However—" Remus raised his eyebrows and looked between the two of them. "—I did notice something that needs great improvement. It's the reason your coach brought me in today, actually."

Hermione shot a sideways glance at Draco. His brow was furrowed, his lips turned down as he pulled the water bottle from his lips.

"And what reason would that be, sir?" Hermione pressed.

"It's your chemistry out on the ice," Remus explained. "Now that you're skating on the senior level, there are certain expectations about your artistry and storytelling capabilities."

Draco drew back. "Our chemistry? We've been friends for years. I'd think our chemistry is the best part of our skate."

"Don't be insolent!" Snape snapped, murder in his eyes. "I have called in a very large favour to have Mr. Lupin come in and help you."

"I wouldn't call it a very large favour, Severus." Remus chuckled, a smirk dancing on his lips. "You and I do go a ways back, after all."

Snape didn't seem to like this comment. His expression grew sour at once, and Hermione swore she could hear him growl.

As Snape continued to seethe, this new man's words washed over her. He and Snape… knew each other?

"May I ask how, sir?" Hermione piped up, leaning on the barrier.

"The two of us used to be ice skaters back in the eighties. I was an ice dancer and he was in men's singles." Remus was clearly enjoying himself entirely too much. There was a spark of mischief in his eye that contrasted with the darkness is Snape's. "We saw a lot of each other in our younger years. And I have to tell you, your coach was an incredibly talented skater. His only problem was the same one you have now: his technical scores were consistently phenomenal, but his expression on the ice was always, shall we say, lacking."

Snape's hands gripped the barrier so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"That's why I'm here." Remus leaned on the barrier, smiling out at them. "To help you with your expression. Because frankly, the expression that I saw out there was not good."

Hermione drew back slightly. She shot Draco a look out of the corner of her eye. His eyebrows were askew in clear disbelief. Not trusting the words that might come out of his mouth, she continued to advocate for them both.

"So what do we have to do?" Hermione twisted her water bottle in her hands. "How can we practice that?"

Remus grinned, a bit of a mad glint in his eye.

"I'll leave you to it," Snape drawled, turning away. "I'd rather not have to witness this."

As his all-black outline disappeared into the lobby, Hermione felt sweat gather in her palms. She didn't like the look Remus was giving them, like they were about to be in for quite the surprise.

"Okay." He clapped his hands together. "First of all, I'd like the two of you to tell me in your own words, what this song is about. What story are you trying to tell the audience?"

Hermione turned her head. She licked her lips as several possible answers floated across her mind, all of them too embarrassing to say out loud.

"Well," Draco began slowly, his eyes blinking far more than normal. "Isn't it a song about attraction?"

Remus nodded. "Good, good. What else?"

"It's a strong attraction," Draco elaborated, his cheeks slightly pink. "From a woman's perspective."

"Hermione? Anything to add?"

"It's about more than just simple attraction." She chose her words carefully, looking determinedly at Remus and not at Draco. "It's about the primal nature of that attraction, how it's always been inevitable for most of history and how it's still inevitable now."

"Excellent. So tell me then. What's missing from your dance?"

Hermione swallowed and allowed her eyes to wander to Draco. Her skating partner. Her best friend.

"Attraction, sir."

"Precisely. Now, Draco—" Draco's head snapped up as Remus mentioned him by name. "—in order for you to sell this dance and make it convincing to everyone in the audience, you need to look at Hermione like a woman you'd like to romance."

Oh god.

Hermione felt her cheeks begin to burn.

"And Hermione—"

She stopped herself from squeaking.

"—I want you to look at Draco like he's a piece of meat." Hermione's eyes shot wide open.

She was burning from the inside out, she was sure of it. She hardly had the courage to look at Remus now, let alone at Draco.

"Meat?" She winced, eyes on her toe pick.

"Exactly. Like he's a juicy filet mignon and you just want to take a bite."

An image flashed in her mind of doing just that, taking her teeth to his skin and just—

A shiver ran up her spine.

"Right. Let's do an exercise to get started." Hermione lifted her eyes, forcing her imagination to quiet. "All I want is for the two of you to look at each other. Using only your eyes, show the audience your attraction."

Inhaling deeply, Hermione turned to her right, where she could see Draco out of the corner of her eye. She expected to see a deep red tint to his cheeks, his eyes looking anywhere but at her. She expected some mutual embarrassment.

But when her eyes met his, she nearly forgot how to breathe.

There was something incredibly stupefying about the way his eyes… they looked molten. Like melted silver, so hot it could burn her. And his lips… they were parted slightly, pink, plump, and inviting.

God, she must have looked so stupid, staring at him like this. She'd taken more than her fair share of long looks in the past, sure, but it had only ever been when he was occupied or asleep. Soaking him in like this when his eyes were fixated on her was completely different.

She couldn't tear her eyes away. They were locked on his, hypnotised...

Her heart began to speed up, mouth dry, hands shaking, toes curling—

A laugh bubbled up from her stomach, bursting forth from her mouth at an alarming volume.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I just—I'm not sure why—"

"That's fine, Hermione. Let's try again."

The second time they tried to look attracted to each other, Draco succeeded spectacularly once again. Hermione's knees went knobbly within ten seconds.

Her own expression, however, left something to be desired. Every time she tried to make her eyes look seductive or her lips look kissable, mimicking Draco in many ways, all she could do was picture herself looking incredibly stupid. Before she could stop it, her lips began to twitch and a round of giggles escaped from her mouth.

Draco had the grace not to act annoyed as Hermione threw her head back in frustration through a layer of unstoppable bubbly laughs.

"I'm so, so sorry," she managed to breathe when the giggles finally subsided. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

To her relief, Remus didn't seem to mind her ineptitude, either. "This is why I'm here, Hermione. Don't worry. It's clear that the two of you are very close, but this is an aspect of your relationship that's never been explored on ice before."

He gave them several more tries at the exercise. Each time, Draco still managed to make her toes curl with his unshakeable stare.

It actually made her believe for those few moments that he wanted her.

Like he's filet mignon. Like you want a big, juicy bite.

Hermione was less successful. Every time she thought she might be getting somewhere, the same awkwardness crept up the back of her throat, reminding herself that she had no idea how to flirt. No idea how to be romantic. That she probably looked stupid.

Most of all, it reminded her that romantic feelings toward Draco were off-limits.

That's when the giggles usually started.

After seven tries, they finally managed to get through a whole minute without Hermione cracking up. By the end of that minute, Hermione wasn't sure she could get proper words out if she tried. And it wasn't because her diaphragm hurt from laughing so hard. Instead, she felt tongue-tied, her brain unable to perform proper language processing under Draco's smoldering gaze.

Meanwhile, she thought her own gaze might make her look constipated.

Remus told her that she was improving, but she knew better.

She was just utterly abysmal at flirting.

When faced with the possibility of someone being interested in her, she had no idea what to do or how to react. In most areas of her life, she considered herself well on her way to becoming an expert. But when it came to romance and attraction… she pretty much drew a blank.

Remus dismissed them after a bit, promising to return tomorrow to give it another go.

Watching him walk away, Hermione could practically feel the disappointment swirling around him. Given their recent international win, surely the man had expected a little more from her than a complete inability to act alluring.

Hermione continued to stew as she got changed back in the locker rooms. She probably couldn't act alluring because she had never really felt alluring before. Sure, her skating costumes were lovely and all. But when she took all that away, removed her make-up, and let her impossible curls frizz all over creation, she didn't exactly feel like someone who was picture ready, let alone someone that a boy would find attractive.

That was probably why she had no experience.

No boyfriends. No dates. Nothing.

Normally, she might have blamed her busy schedule, but that didn't seem to be a possibility. Plenty of skaters dated. She certainly heard enough about it at competitions; the community was small enough that everyone pretty much knew everyone else. So when there was relationship drama between skaters—and there often was—it became everyone's common knowledge.

So, no. If other skaters had time to date, so could she. The blame for her lack of experience sat squarely on her shoulders, in the thick of her massive mane.

Hermione groaned to herself as she pulled on a t-shirt. They were skating in the senior division this year. So many of their competitors had infinitely more experience than she did. Yet, she was expected to portray the same range of emotions as them, despite the fact that a boy had never so much blinked in her direction.

Well, save for Draco.

But that was more of an obligation on his part.

And besides, she reminded herself as she pulled her socks on, you don't need to get attached to any boys. You can't get your heart broken.

Hermione had nearly resigned herself to the pathetic fate of giggling every time she tried to flirt when a strange thought crossed her mind.

What if…

No—it was too crazy.

But…

What if it wasn't?

She needed some sort of experience if they were going to even come close to being competitive in the senior division.

And experience, in this case, didn't have to mean romance. It didn't have to mean getting her heart invested. It could just mean… practice.

Practice flirting… practice looking at someone like they were a juicy piece of meat…

In the end, it could be more of a transactional thing.

Hermione zipped up her duffel bag as the vague outlines of a plan began forming in her mind. All she had to do was find someone to snog. Touch her a bit. If she liked it, maybe more. Make her feel attractive. Perhaps then, she'd know exactly how to look at Draco and make his toes curl.

It clicked just as she slung her bag over her shoulder.

Draco.

It all made sense.

Judging by the way he looked at her, surely he had some sort of experience. Or at least knew what it meant to feel attractive.

As much as she hated to admit it, she was definitely attracted to him.

And it would be rather awkward to ask someone she was less familiar with. It was bound to be awkward, certainly, but with Draco, perhaps less so.

Maybe she could ask Draco.

He'd say yes, wouldn't he?

Draco liked to win more than anything. If Hermione knew her partner as well as she thought she did, then she knew that finding advantages over other skaters and doing everything to go for gold was his main objective.

And if Hermione couldn't get over her awkwardness and just experience that 'fever' their song talked about, then they would basically be doomed this season. She saw it in Remus's eyes. Their current skating was terrible.

They were stuck.

Unless she got herself figured out.

And that's what she intended to do.

The more she thought about it, the more Draco seemed to be the ideal candidate. She owed him massively for all those months he spent at her side. There wasn't much she could give him that he didn't already have. But if they did this together, she could offer him sex. Teenage boys liked that, right? And besides, it was with him that she needed to have chemistry in the end. It wouldn't hurt to get a headstart of sorts, would it? Draco probably wouldn't say no. She could give him this… a small advantage. Something to help them win this season. And Draco loved to win.

All she had to do was ask. And then sleep with him. Without developing feelings.

That was the most important part.

But she could do it.

Straightening her shoulders, Hermione strode from the ladies' locker room and back to the dormitory where she stewed some more in the shower and over dinner. She tried to think of any other scenario that made more sense, but nothing came to mind. This was it—what she had to do.

By the time seven o'clock rolled around, Hermione's nerves were shot to hell. Every inch of her vibrated as she padded down the dormitory corridor toward Draco's room.

This was it. There was no turning back from this moment.

She knocked.

"Come in," came his familiar voice through the door.

Hermione steadied herself and entered.

Draco was already waiting for her. He was lounging on his bed, flipping through channels on the telly with a bored expression on his face. He had clearly run his hands through his hair a few times since showering after practice; a few platinum strands fell across his face, making his whole head more unkempt than usual.

He was bloody gorgeous.

Without him even looking in her direction, Hermione felt that same quaking within her. She rubbed her thighs together as she made her way over and sank onto the mattress beside him.

"You want to watch something tonight?" he asked, reaching for a glass of water beside his bed and taking a gulp.

Hermione swallowed. She had to ask now. If she didn't, she was terrified of chickening out. The silence between them stretched longer than it should have.

He raised his eyebrows in anticipation, the glass held to his lips.

Steeling herself, she forced the words from her lips.

"Do you want to have sex with me?"

Draco lurched forward, eyes wide, and spat his mouthful of water out all over the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have arriiiiiiiiiived. 
> 
> You're welcome. 
> 
> Welcome to the 18+ club, friends. 
> 
> The song is "Fever" as sung by Peggy Lee. 
> 
> Until next week... *eyebrow waggle*


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has a response to Hermione's question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies! This chapter is nearly 8K words. So... you're welcome!
> 
> Lots of speculation about where this chapter was going... I hope it's exactly what you were hoping for. 
> 
> So there's some smut in this chapter...
> 
> Enjoy! All the thanks to Graceful Lioness!

**Summer 2008**

To say that Draco was shocked was an understatement. He was beyond shocked. His brain was misfiring, he was sure of it.

He stuck his finger in his ear to check for earwax buildup.

Nothing.

Was he going daft, or had Hermione _actually_ just asked—?

"Well, _do_ you? Want to have sex with me, that is?"

She _did_ ask, then.

Draco gulped, words caught in his throat. This was a trick question. It had to be. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before any sound escaped.

"Do _I_ —" He pointed to himself, eyes widening. "—with _you?_ " His finger jabbed in her direction.

This was apparently the wrong thing to say.

Hermione immediately drew back. Her eyes dulled and darted away from his as her fingers began to pull at the zipper of her jacket. "N-nevermind. Forget I asked." She moved to slide off the bed. "See you tomorrow."

Regret pooled in his stomach immediately. He had to set the situation right before she disappeared, leaving him alone like a fool. Acting on instinct, Draco reached out and grabbed hold of her wrist.

"Wait, don't go." He saw hesitation in her eyes and held on just a little tighter. " _Please."_

Hermione looked back at him, and he swore he saw the glistening of tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Draco blurted, jumping to say anything just to keep her there. "I fucked up. I—it's just, you surprised the hell out of me, Hermione. I mean… have _sex_ with you? Where's this coming from?"

Hermione licked her lips and kept her eyes trained on her fidgeting fingers. Empathy for her discomfort gripped at his heart. "I just… today really showed me something. I felt so awkward trying to flirt with you. I mean, not _you_ specifically. Just… I don't know how to flirt or act romantic or anything." She backtracked, eyes darting between his face and her fingers. "Remus's exercise made me confront the fact that everything we're trying to portray on the ice is new and strange to me. I have zero experience with attraction and everything that goes with it."

She puffed out a small breath and straightened her shoulders. When her eyes met his, they were no longer filled with sadness, but instead, determination. "I don't want to look foolish and have it cost us our whole season. That's why… that's why I asked if you'll—well, you know what I asked."

"To have sex with you."

"Yes. That." Hermione's fingers twitched as though they wanted to fidget again, but she resisted. "Sex. With you."

Draco pursed his lips and tried to keep a straight face as a tornado of thoughts swirled in his mind.

Hermione wanted to have sex with him.

Sex.

With _him._

Or was it just sex in general? Because that's how it seemed. She wanted _experience._ Not that he had any to speak of. When was he supposed to have had time for that? With the exception of experimental pecks on the lips with Pansy in primary school he had none at all.

But she wanted _experience_.

And he wanted to give it to her. What hot-blooded eighteen-year-old boy wouldn't? But there was more to this than just _experience_. It was _Hermione,_ for God's sake. And before he took that step with her, he needed all of the information.

Draco rubbed the bridge of his nose as he processed the proposition. "Uh, I'm not really sure how to ask this, so I'll just get on with it." He reached forward and took Hermione's hand, lacing their fingers together. The feeling of her hand in his was a familiar one, and he took comfort in it, letting it give him some much-needed courage. Her eyes focused on his, and he knew she was listening closely. "Is it _me_ you want to have sex with? Or just… have sex with someone and I happen to be here?"

He wanted to come off as cool and nonchalant about the whole thing, but he had a feeling that he was failing spectacularly.

Hermione swallowed before answering in a small voice. "With you, I think."

Draco frowned, disappointment pooling in his stomach. "You… _think?"_

Hermione looked briefly horrified before shaking her head fervently. "No. I-I'm certain. It's you. I want _you_ to be the person I have sex with. I mean, yes, you're here. But it's more than that." Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, there was a shining, simple honesty there. "I trust you, Draco. You're my—" she paused for a moment, running her tongue over her bottom lip."—my best friend."

The air between them hummed with potential energy. It was as though the world had gone completely still, like the moment before lightning pierced the sky in an electric storm. Draco could tell there was so much left unsaid—so many words she didn't quite express. The silence extended, stretched to its breaking point.

Draco had so many questions. He was swimming in them, almost unable to come up for air. Almost drowning. If she didn't break the silence soon, he thought he might go mad.

Is that what they were? Best friends? Maybe that's what they were at one point. Somehow, that term didn't seem right anymore. After all they had been through these past few months, they were beyond that.

Weren't they?

But the question remained: what were they now? Draco wasn't sure.

And now she wanted to have sex? Part of him wanted to. Most of him, really. God, when she asked him to spot her this morning in the gym, he nearly lost it watching her arse move up and down with each squat. He'd been getting hard over her for years. He'd had countless fantasies of kissing Hermione. Of touching her when they were left to their own devices in competition changing rooms. Of her opening her body up to him when they shared a bed.

Yes, he'd fantasised plenty, but he'd forcefully chalked that up to uncontrollable teenage hormones and proximity.

But what did that mean for their… _whatever it was_ they had? More than sex, he didn't want to ruin that. More than anything. To ruin their relationship would mean ruining everything he cared about.

Hermione was the one to break the silence. When she did, it was as if she had been reading his mind.

"Nothing has to change, you know."

She was fidgeting with her fingers again.

"What do you mean nothing has to change?" Draco asked, head tilting to meet her gaze. Her lips twitched in a half-smile.

"I mean… sex can just be sex. I don't expect—" She licked her lips, blinking twice as normal. "I don't expect flowers or for us to date or anything. No feelings would be better, actually. I just want it to be as comfortable as possible for both of us. That's why I want it to be you."

Her insistence was vehement, now. Fervid.

The disappointment in Draco's stomach grew deeper, seeping through his entire abdomen and filling every crevice in his body. It was the full sort of disappointment that only arrived after brief, shining moments of hope.

She wanted it to be comfortable, so she chose him. Was that what he was to her? A comfortable person?

 _Why_ he was so disappointed, he couldn't quite pinpoint. Did he want to date Hermione? To be with her? That was such a big question. He'd never considered it. Not really.

He was definitely attracted to her. There was no mistaking that.

And he loved her. God knows he loved her.

But like a _sister._ Like a _best friend_. Like the only person in his life to really give a damn about him.

Because she did give a damn about him. Even in the deepest throes of grief, she always took care to ask if _he_ was okay. If _he_ needed anything. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do for this girl.

And if she was asking for sex without feelings, he could do that. For her.

The solution to his dilemma fell into place with such ease, it was almost like breathing.

"Yeah. Okay." He offered a close-lipped smile, his hand reaching out to rest on her shoulder.

As relief flooded her face, mild panic set in. He could have stayed sincere. Maybe he should have. But in the two seconds after the words exited his mouth, he began to squirm at the thought of actually putting himself out there. He decided to switch tactics. "I'll do it. You don't have to beg." He threw in a wink, just to be safe.

Hermione chuckled, her shoulders shaking slightly. "It's settled then. Let's do this."

They grinned at each other for a few moments, neither one moving—neither daring to make the first move.

"What do you think we should do first?" Hermione tapped her fingers against her legs.

Draco's fingers flexed of their own accord. His throat grew dry. "Well, we do need to get undressed at some point. Maybe we could start with that?"

Hermione bit her lip, toying with the zipper of her jacket. Her eyes dropped down again, avoiding his. "I-I know you've already seen me naked—"

God, she was shaking.

"—but could we maybe start with something else? Work up to it?"

Draco frowned. This wasn't right. It wasn't how it was supposed to be. For either of them. "Hermione, we don't have to do this."

Her head snapped up. She was frowning as well. Pouting, almost. "But I _want_ to. Honestly. I'm just nervous, okay? But I'm a lot less nervous with you than I would be with anyone else. So… please?"

Her round, honey-coloured eyes looked across the bed at him, asking permission. These were the eyes of his best friend. His best friend who needed him.

How could he say no?

He exhaled and took her hand. "I said yes, didn't I? We'll take it as slow as you want." He drew back for a moment, considering her. "Should we just start with touching maybe?" Slowly, carefully, he raised his hand to Hermione's face, his palm unfolding until it rested against her cheek. She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing.

"Like this," he whispered so softly that he was sure his voice barely carried across the bed.

His hand never leaving her skin, he began to trace the contours of her face, starting with her forehead. Fingertips traveled to the opposite side of her face, around her lips, across her jaw, and down to her neck. When his pads pressed into her pulse point, he felt her shiver.

It shot straight through him.

Draco pressed on. His fingers roamed, reaching the edge of her collarbone, which was peeking out from her jacket. The further his hands traveled, the more ragged her breathing grew. Another shiver ran through her body, vibrating in his own skin.

Did she find this thrilling? He marveled at the possibility. They touched all the time, sometimes for hours on end. They'd been touching each other since they were kids. It shouldn't affect either of them like this.

And yet…

When his fingers brushed against her arm, dragging gently all the way to her hand, he watched as Hermione's eyes closed in apparent bliss, her lips parted.

Draco swallowed. He was well and truly fucked.

"My turn," she murmured when he reached her hand. "Close your eyes. I want you to feel what I felt."

Only raising his brow slightly, he obeyed. Waiting for her touch felt endless. Nerves bubbled inside of him, foreign and exciting all at once. When her fingers finally brushed featherlight on his cheek, his breath hitched.

If someone told him that his heart stopped in that moment, he'd have believed them.

Draco heard his heart beating in his ears as Hermione's hand began exploring him inch by inch, following a nearly identical pattern. She traced his facial features—eyes, nose, lips. Just like her, he shivered when she touched his neck.

He wasn't in control of the way his breath caught when her fingers trailed his arm or the moan that escaped his lips when they reached his waist. It all came involuntarily, as though Hermione was coaxing it out of him.

It really was like brand new—touching each other like this. There was nothing refined or calculating about the way Hermione's fingers moved across the skin of his Adam's apple. There were no coaches to tell them to run it again or that their elbows were at the wrong angle.

It was just them, alone, figuring it out for themselves.

Hermione's hands traveled lower, growing bolder with each passing second. Before Draco could really process where they were headed, they were already toying with the elastic band on his athletic trousers.

Draco's eyes snapped open.

This was happening. It was really happening.

Fighting to breathe, he placed his hands over Hermione's, his head ducking slightly to meet her eyes.

"Hermione," he breathed. "I think—"

What did he think? What did he need? More importantly, what did _she_ need?

 _Romance,_ his brain answered. This was the most romantic thing he had ever bloody felt. It didn't feel right to sit, slightly hunched over on his dormitory bed in the silence. They needed atmosphere.

That's what people did, right? When they had sex.

"I'm going to put some music on," he blurted, jumping to his feet.

Hermione blinked, but didn't miss a beat when she nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

Draco strode to his desk where he kept his mp3 speakers. His brain was working far too fast to think of a single song title that could be appropriate for a moment like this. After scrolling for a few seconds, he felt Hermione's eyes trained on him. Waiting for him. Even though he was sure that it had only been a few moments, knowing that Hermione was watching his every move made the time spent searching feel like an eternity. Panicking slightly, he selected a song at random and set the iPod back on the desk.

The first breathy lyrics to a familiar song filled the room and Draco breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't picked a stupid song. Crossing back to his bed, he made sure to turn the fluorescent ceiling light off, leaving them illuminated only by the soft glow of a bedside lamp.

As he settled next to Hermione again, the nerves in his stomach grew more intense.

Somehow, he knew that this was it. There was no going back from what was about to happen.

Hermione tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Draco swallowed.

"Can I kiss you?" Hermione's lips twitched into a smile.

Her lips. Draco's eyes traveled to them. They were pink, even in the soft, yellow light. They looked soft, too. Kissable.

There should have been some sort of protesting voice in his head that wanted him to resist. Some voice that reminded him that this was his best friend. That there was no way her lips could be kissable. That he was risking all his dreams for this.

If such a voice existed, Draco would have told it to sod off.

"Yeah. You can kiss me."

Hermione shifted on his bed, moving closer to him until she was only centimetres away. Her breath mingled with his, sweet and warm. They remained at that distance for several seconds, just breathing, holding on, waiting for the other to make a move.

And then she kissed him.

It was gentle. Cautious.

It was like nothing Draco had ever felt before, her lips on his. They were softer than he had imagined, plump and perfect.

Her lips began to move against his. Slowly. Experimentally. Draco wasn't sure how such a small motion could make his heart hammer so hard against his chest, but there was no denying the effect Hermione's lips had on him.

She drew him in like a magnet. He couldn't pull away if he wanted to.

When Draco probed her lips with his tongue and she granted him entrance, he was sure he had died and gone to heaven. His arms began to move of their own accord, one wrapping around Hermione's waist, the other reaching around her to grab hold of the back of her head.

He needed to be closer to her. To feel all of her mouth on his.

How had they not done this before? This was perfect. This was everything. This was—

In the background, Draco suddenly became aware that the music had shifted.

It was no longer the breathy song that made him want to keep snogging Hermione. It had switched to a swing dance piece they had done for a competition several years ago. They'd rehearsed the routine to death, and the moment the song started playing over the speakers, they both broke apart and cringed.

For this, he pulled away.

"Sorry," he mumbled, cheeks burning as he stumbled across the room to switch the song.

Hermione chuckled. "That's okay. Besides, we don't need music."

Draco froze. "No music?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. I think it's a little distracting. I'd rather just focus on what we're doing."

So much for his romantic plan.

There was an expression on her face that he had never seen before. Her eyes glinted under heavy lids with something almost akin to mischief and the ghost of a smile danced at the corners of her lips.

This was the expression she'd attempted back at the rink. Attraction. Seduction. _Desire._

But that attempt had only been a shadow of the real thing.

And oh, what a privilege it was to witness it.

As she looked at him, one thing became perfectly clear: Hermione wanted him. This wasn't pretend. It wasn't a rehearsal. It was very, very real.

He wanted her, too. So much.

Lust shot through him as he realized something big. Something monumental.

Hermione wanted him. He wanted her.

They wanted each other.

And they were going to have sex.

Draco strode back across the silent bedroom. Hermione swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. He met her there, lips first. This kiss was harder than before, more urgent. There was no hesitancy this time. His tongue did not ask for entrance to her mouth, but rather, demanded it. She followed his lead beautifully, her mouth meeting each movement eagerly.

As they kissed, a strange thought began to creep into Draco's mind. It moved beyond his brain and began to fill his chest. This was more than lust. Kissing Hermione was doing things to him that he couldn't explain. He understood the pounding in his chest and the straining in his trousers, but the weight in his stomach was unexpected.

He pushed it away. There would be time to think later.

This was not a time for thinking.

It wasn't long before hands began to wander. Hermione's found his elastic waistband again. She tugged on it with an unexpected level of eagerness. In turn, his own hands made quick work of the zipper on her jacket, moving on to the hem of her shirt next.

"Okay?" he mumbled against her mouth as his finger brushed a thin sliver of skin just below.

"Go ahead."

The words came out almost as a moan, and Draco's hips canted of their own accord.

He made quick work of her shirt, and she disposed of his trousers moments later. They only had a moment to drink their half-naked forms in before it turned into a frenzy. Hands tugged on buttons and clasps, pulling and pushing until they were left in nothing but their own skin.

Hermione had been right, of course, that he'd seen her naked before. He'd seen nearly every inch of her body on that horrible day in December, but that didn't count. Not in Draco's mind. The fact that she had been naked hadn't fully registered with him. Sure, he'd taken a good look, but that hadn't mattered nearly as much as helping his friend.

Now, he could look all he wanted.

He looked her up and down. He drank her in like she was the sweetest, most thirst-quenching thing he'd ever laid eyes on. Every inch of her was gorgeous, from the way her curls fell gently over her rose-coloured nipples to the way another thatch of curls covered the one bit of her he'd never laid eyes on.

He was positive he'd never been so turned on in his life. His whole body was a livewire about to short circuit, and if he didn't touch her again soon, he might explode.

He was certain of all of this until he realised that Hermione was drinking him in just as much.

Her eyes were wide, lips parted slightly as her gaze drifted from his chest, down further and further until she reached his erection. It jutted out in front of him, unabashed and rigid. He was harder than he'd ever been before, and once Hermione's eyes settled on him there, they froze.

Draco watched her throat bob.

He wanted nothing more than to close the gap between them and never leave.

"It's funny," said Hermione, her eyes meeting his again, "I've lost count of how many times I've held your hand or touched your shoulder or your chest. I always felt like I knew your body so well. But this—"

She reached forward with a tentative hand and ran her fingertips over his chest.

"—this is so much more than that. Isn't it?" Her eyes met his. "Am I imagining it, Draco?"

The sound of his name on her lips brought more nerves to his stomach.

He shook his head, grabbing hold of her hand and pulling it to his face. "No, I don't think so. I think that touching like this—" He bent his head to bring her fingers up to his lips and brush a kiss over them. "—is a different kind of knowing."

Hermione's breath hitched.

"Do you want to know me like that?" Her voice was so small he scarcely heard it.

Leaning down, he pressed his lips gently against hers—once, twice, three times.

"So much," he murmured against her mouth. "You have no idea, Hermione."

"Then touch me, Draco. _Please._ "

He didn't need to be told twice.

Surging forward, skin met skin in the most delicious sensation Draco had ever felt. They'd had their chests pressed together before, but it was always through layers of spandex, tulle, and velvet. Now, with nothing between them but their breath, Draco could feel all of Hermione. Her taut stomach, the curve of her breasts, her nipples… they all pressed into him with a new sense of urgency.

His erection brushed against her stomach, and a heady rush of pleasure went straight to his cock. On instinct, he nudged himself closer, seeking greater sensation. The motion seemed to surprise Hermione—she pulled back slightly, head tilting down to get a good look.

Draco was caught somewhere between pride and mortification as her gaze lingered for several seconds. He felt a full-body blush rise in him.

"Can I—?"

" _God, please."_

Draco sat on the mattress and rearranged himself so he settled on his knees. Hermione moved to sit in front of him. She licked her lips before her hand shot out and wrapped around him experimentally. Instantly, he was transported somewhere heavenly. This was surely what hands were meant to do. When Hermione's hand began to move up and down, pulling his skin with it, Draco's hips moved too, following her lead.

This was far beyond anything his own hand could do. It would be so easy to lose himself in the sensation and just let himself fall deeper and deeper into bliss. Draco closed his eyes, relishing the sensation of mounting pressure inside of him.

But even as his pleasure began to grow, something didn't feel quite right.

Hermione had asked him to touch her, and here he was, on the receiving end.

It wouldn't do. There was still a part of her that he hadn't seen yet. And the thought of seeing her… touching her _there_ was enough to harden him even more than he thought possible.

"Hermione," he murmured, opening his eyes. "I want to touch you. Please let me touch you."

She nodded and released her hand from his erection, and though there was a momentary sense of loss, it was all forgotten when she raised herself on her knees and spread her legs for him.

She was…

Draco wasn't sure he had the right words to describe what he felt when he saw her _there_ for the first time. It was gorgeous, pink and glistening. And it was all for him. He felt drawn to her like a magnet for the second time that night.

Instead of diving in head first, afraid he might drown, Draco decided to start with something simpler. More straightforward. He unfurled his fingers and reached toward one of her breasts palm first. She leaned into his touch as his hand enveloped her entire breast and squeezed. It was hypnotising, and soon, both hands worked her chest, squeezing the soft flesh and pinching her nipples.

Hermione squirmed and twisted beneath his touch, and Draco decided that he quite liked that.

What else could he do to get a reaction out of her? Remembering the sensitivity on her neck, he bent down and began to trail small, wet kisses past her pulsepoint, to her collarbone, all the while continuing to massage her chest.

The results were spectacular. She began to moan slightly, her body practically trembling.

Suddenly, her hand rested over one of his and moved it away from her breast, guiding it down instead. Draco's throat felt like a desert when he felt his fingertips brush her sex for the first time.

"Touch me here, Draco," she instructed, tilting her head more as he continued to pepper her neck with kisses.

He ran an experimental finger up her slit, swirling a bit at the top where he hoped her clit was. As his index finger pressed there, her hips jerked forward a bit and she let out a sound he'd never heard her make before. It was breathy and needy and perfect, and he knew instantly that he'd do anything to hear her make that sound again. He swiped that spot again. And again. Soon, his attention to her neck was long forgotten as he simply watched her begin to fall apart in his arms, her eyes clamped shut, mouth hanging open.

"Oh my god, Draco," she breathed as her hips canted against his hand. " _Yes._ Right there. Keep going. Oh god, I-I—"

He felt her pulse around his finger as her entire body tensed.

Had she just—?

As Hermione's breathing began to even out, a primal sort of pride filled his chest and he had to fight the instinct to pound his chest and brag to the world that he had just made Hermione Granger come with his fingers.

He leaned forward and kissed her lazily, mouth tracing hers. She kissed him back, her hands finding his erection again and pumping him slowly.

"God, Hermione. You're so beautiful." He hadn't planned on saying something like that, but the words felt right as they tumbled from his mouth. "—should always feel attractive."

He felt her grin against his mouth.

"Are you ready?" she whispered between kisses. Her voice was shaking, though whether it was from excitement or trepidation, he could not tell.

"I've been ready." Draco pulled his head back so he could get a good look at his best friend. She looked nothing like the girl he met all those years ago, posture perfect and hair pulled back into a tight bun. The woman before him now looked completely new; her curls tumbled all about her face, twisted and tangled and wild. Her whole body was flushed and heaving, an eagerness and hunger in her eyes that he had never seen before.

Draco wanted to commit that look of hers to memory and tuck it in his pocket for his darkest moments.

He wanted more. No, he _needed_ more.

Before he even had a chance to act, Hermione crawled across the bed and swung one leg over his hips, sitting astride him. Even the closeness they had shared moments before did not compare to this.

Hermione's centre moved over him. She was warm, wet, and so inviting. Draco wanted nothing more than to sink into her and lose himself completely. But just as she raised herself above him, a thought crossed his mind. One that stopped him completely.

"Hermione, _shit._ " He cursed himself for being so stupid. " _Condom."_

He expected her to curse as well. Perhaps to get frustrated or even cry. But she did none of those things. She just shrugged as her usual self broke through the cloud of lust in her eyes.

"I'm on birth control."

"You are?"

She shrugged again. "Mum put me on it when I was sixteen after my periods started interfering with training."

While Draco didn't much care to hear too much detail about Hermione's periods, this was certainly new information.

"So…" He trailed off for a moment as he processed her words. "...no condom?"

Hermione's lips curled in a mischievous grin as she leaned forward to press her forehead into his.

"No condom."

If Draco could have leapt for joy, he certainly would have. Instead, Hermione lined herself up with his erection.

That was infinitely better.

As she prepared to sink down, he reached around her to find purchase on something. He settled for the globes of her arse, which felt delicious beneath his palms. Perhaps even more so than her breasts.

Each new discovery with Hermione was a revelation.

And then she enveloped his tip and all thought went out the window. It was bliss. Perfection. Heaven, itself.

It was better than any gold medal. Better than the fucking Olympics, even.

Hermione took him inch by inch until she was inextricably connected to him. The deeper she took him, the more Draco was certain this was all a dream and he was about to wake up with some very sticky sheets. But even in his wildest dreams, he never could have imagined the expression on Hermione's face.

This was what Remus had meant when he told her to look at him like filet mignon. Hell, he felt like filet mignon as he watched her eyes flutter and her lips fall open and the bridge of her nose wrinkle just a little. There was a hint of strain on her face, but determination, too. And above all, pleasure.

"Oh God," she cried, her mouth falling open. " _Draco!"_

He was sure he had never heard a sweeter iteration of his name.

Draco used what little was left of his brain power to guide Hermione with his hands planted firmly on her arse. She moved slowly, almost as though each shift of her hips was done with caution.

"Is this okay?" Her eyebrows were furrowed as she looked at him.

"Better than okay," he managed, his voice little more than a grunt. "God, Hermione… you feel…"

She began to ride him a little faster, her cunt taking him more confidently. Pleasure shot through him, hot and heady.

He wasn't going to last long.

"How do I feel?"

Hermione's hips snapped forward and Draco was sure now that this would be the cause of his death. Not a bad way to go, really.

"So good," he practically wheezed. "So fucking good. Hot and wet and— _oh god, Hermione!"_

He was going to finish soon. It was rushing toward him like a train. Taking his hands off her arse, he grabbed hold of her waist instead. Using every ounce of his control and concentration, he managed to roll Hermione off of him so that she was the one lying on the mattress. With less grace than was ideal, he slid off the bed and stood at the edge, his cock still standing stiff and ready.

He probably should have been gentler, but his control was long gone by now. Grabbing Hermione's ankles, he pulled her right to him until their centres met.

She gave him the smallest of nods, and he didn't hesitate to plunge inside her.

Draco couldn't help the way his eyes closed or the way he practically shouted.

When he came. Immediately.

He spilled inside her within five seconds of taking control.

Shame rose inside of him, a different kind of heat than had just filled his body. He wanted to turn on the spot, run, and hide so that he never had to look Hermione in the eye. Not after what had just happened. It reminded him viscerally of the first morning after he had slept beside her and woken up with a hard-on. He'd bolted before she could wake up, but this time there was no escape. She watched him closely in the aftermath of the best orgasm of his life.

 _Embarrassing_ didn't even begin to describe it.

For nearly a minute, the only sounds Draco could hear were the rush of blood in his ears and the panting breaths coming from both his mouth and Hermione's. He just knew that the moment she could speak again, she'd say something about how she wished she'd done it with someone else—someone who could last and really make her feel attractive, and—

"Draco?"

He blinked, his mind resurfacing from the pit of despair.

"Mmm?"

It seemed he wasn't quite capable of words yet.

"Are you okay? That was—wasn't it a little quick?"

Draco grimaced. He was sure that he had turned beet red by now. "I'm sorry—" he breathed, leaning forward and putting his weight on his hands, which were placed on either side of her stomach. "—sorry I didn't last longer. I just… you felt so _good_ and I sort of… well, lost it."

It was a lame excuse. He knew just as much, and she'd see right through it.

If he could take his softening cock with him and crawl into a hole and never come out again, that seemed like the logical path forward.

But when Hermione spoke again, it made him rethink his plans. "It's totally fine. No, honestly. I had no idea what to expect and everything before that was, well—"

She paused, and Draco gathered the courage to tilt his head up to get a look at her face.

She was the one to go beet red.

"How was it, exactly?" Draco pressed, his voice growing deeper.

"It was lovely." Hermione's voice took the opposite approach, nearly squeaking out her answer. "It's just—"

"Just what?"

"I was wondering if you could touch me. Again. You, erm, _finished_ so fast that I couldn't feel what it was like to finish myself with you inside of me. And I think I'd like to know what that feels like."

Just like that, he was hard again, still pressed deep inside of Hermione.

This time, he took the time and care to put her first. Without taking care of himself yet, Draco reached between their connected bodies to find that spot that practically made Hermione sing earlier. He tapped experimentally on her until one angle in particular made her breath hitch and her eyes flutter closed. Her hips moved against his, creating an irresistible friction between them.

He began moving along with her, short, shallow thrusts at first. He had to stay in control—had to make this good for her. Hermione was his _everything_ , and she deserved to feel just as much pleasure as he did.

As Draco continued to move his fingers against her and his length within her, sweat began to pour from his forehead with the effort it took him to hold on. He felt a single droplet travel from his hairline, and as he rocked into Hermione, it traveled down the bridge of his nose and fell right onto her cheek.

Eyes that had been closed opened, and Draco was met with shining, chocolate-coloured pools. He suddenly became aware of just how close the two of them were. They were intertwined, almost as though their bodies had become one. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. They were sweet and moved against his languidly.

Draco continued to thrust, but the kind of feeling building inside of him this time wasn't entirely the same as the last. That first go at it, sex had been like a firework, bursting all at once in a moment of blinding glory. But this time...

Facing Hermione, all of him pressed into her, their eyes never wavering… kissing her like this… this was more than sex. It was more than lust or attraction.

" _Draco."_

Hermione cupped his cheek in her palm, her eyes trained on him with an expression he couldn't quite name.

Longing, almost.

Want.

_...Love?_

Draco leaned down and touched his forehead to Hermione's as his thrusts grew more erratic. Though his hand was beyond exhausted, he never stopped massaging her clit, even as his hand began to cramp. She was making desperate little noises against him now, that same breathy tone she made before right before she came.

He began thrusting with real purpose now. He could do this. There was nothing he wanted more than to fall together with her. They had done everything together for so long, it seemed natural that they'd do this together, too.

Because that's how they were meant to be.

Together. Just them.

Just as Hermione's voice reached an unmistakable crescendo, he felt her walls begin to clench around him. Her jaw had gone slack and her eyes fluttered and Draco knew that this moment was exactly what he would picture every time they took to the ice this season. _This_ was a memory that could inspire.

Almost as though her climax called to him, he followed her willingly, his hips meeting hers in a few, final thrusts.

Draco pulled out this time, his softening member leaving a trail of cum along Hermione's thigh. And it was only when he had crawled back onto the bed beside her that he realized how much he was well and truly fucked.

He'd told her he could do this without feelings. That the sex could just be sex. But lying beside her like he had done for so many years, everything was different now. Her eyelashes and freckles and unruly curls suddenly meant everything to him. He wanted to stay like this—to kiss her as she fell asleep and then do it again when she woke.

Draco also felt three dangerous little words hover on the back of his tongue.

He managed to push those away.

Hermione snuggled into him and pulled a blanket over them both. The fact that she didn't rummage around his room for her clothes meant that she was just as tired as he was. And just like they had done everything else together that night, so, too, did they fall asleep together.

Draco woke up hard as always, his alarm blaring at half past four. He made to shift his body away from Hermione like he usually did, but just as he started to gain conscious control of his muscles again, memories from the night before came flooding back into the front of his mind.

He'd had sex with Hermione.

Twice.

He'd come inside of her and she'd had the most beautiful look on her face he'd ever seen.

She had incredible breasts, and her arse…

Testing the waters, Draco reached a hand under the blanket and was suddenly very, very awake.

She was naked. They both were. He could feel her soft skin on the pads of his fingers, still just as alluring as last night. His morning erection was pressed directly into her perfect arse, and it was so tempting to press himself into her. But as Hermione began to stir, he drew his hands and cock away.

"Good morning," she murmured through a yawn. "Have a nice sleep?"

He decided to play along, yawning as well. "Mm. I did. I haven't slept that well in a while."

Draco recognized the exact moment when last night's memories came crashing into Hermione. Her eyes shot open, and her chin lifted slightly off her pillow to glance down her naked form.

"Oh my god, we actually did that," she moaned, her head falling back.

"We did." He paused, shifting his body sideways to lean on his elbow. "Is that… okay?"

A small smile twitched at Hermione's lips. "It is. I feel… satisfied."

Feeling bold, he pressed a kiss to her waiting lips. "Well if that's the case, I could try and make you satisfied again this morning."

"Draco—"

"We could be quick about it, I'm sure. I mean, that wouldn't be a problem for me."

"Draco!"

Draco blinked. He hadn't noticed that Hermione sat up, using his blankets to shield her chest from view.

"What is it?"

"It's just—" Hermione was back to fidgeting. "—we don't really have time. And besides…"

A cold, icy dread swept over his whole body.

"... I think I got what I needed last night."

Something within Draco cracked.

"Oh yeah?" He plastered on a fake smile.

Hermione hummed. "Yes. I think I can understand the feelings and expressions we'll have to portray in our skating from now on. I think I can make it through Remus's exercise without laughing now, at least."

Draco grunted, nodding his head. "That's… good. Yeah. That's great."

Hermione reached out and laced her fingers through his, his blanket still held against her chest with her free hand.

"Thank you, Draco."

_Shit._

She was thanking him.

He didn't want her thanks. He wanted to cover her body with his and bury himself inside her again. He wanted to kiss her all over and tell her that she meant everything to him.

But as he watched her stand and reach for her clothes, which were strewn across his floor, he recognized the businesslike way she was now moving. Whatever vulnerability or tenderness she had shown last night was officially gone.

"Don't mention it." He waved her off. "It wasn't like it didn't feel good for me, too."

She shot a grin in his direction and pulled her trousers on.

"And now that we've got some experience," she continued, "We'll really be able to nail this routine."

"Yeah. The routine. It'll be great."

"It _will_ be. Now I'm excited to get back on the ice. Aren't you?"

Draco agreed with her aloud, though he wasn't really listening anymore. He wasn't sure what he had been thinking, getting his hopes up that lingering feelings might play a part in their relationship from now on.

It was immensely clear that any affection Hermione had felt for him last night had been transactional at best, and that she still firmly considered herself his best friend.

As if to add insult to injury, Hermione began suggesting good potential girlfriends for him as she pulled on her clothes from yesterday. It was almost like he hadn't been buried to the hilt inside of her just hours before. Like he hadn't felt his heart beat wildly as they came crashing down together.

"What about that girl from the gym who's always staring at you? She's cute." Hermione pulled a shirt over her head, making the sound a little muffled.

Draco made a face and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "I don't want someone who stares at me. It's creepy."

"Suit yourself." She shrugged and waved before disappearing out of the door to his room, almost as though she couldn't get out of there fast enough.

If he had a spine at all, he'd stop her in her tracks and declare that he couldn't make good on their sex-with-no-feelings deal because he'd fallen for her.

But as it turned out, he was a spineless coward, so he just met her suggestions with vague disinterest instead.

Their morning was technically the same as yesterday. They worked out together. Ate breakfast. Attended ballroom dance lesson. Their schedule was nearly identical, but somehow, everything felt different. Shinier, somehow. Every time Hermione smiled at him, a little shiver ran through his chest and he felt all the muscles in his body go briefly wobbly.

If Hermione felt wobbly at all, she certainly didn't show it.

So he didn't either.

It wasn't until later in the afternoon when they were back on the rink that any sort of real feeling flared to life inside of him. As promised, Remus was there again. He stood just off ice as Draco and Hermione faced each other, ready to resume the looking exercise.

"Remember Hermione," Remus instructed. "Like he's a filet mignon."

This time when Hermione looked him up and down, there wasn't even a hint of humor in her eyes. Instead, the look in them now took Draco right back to several hours ago when they had been touching and exploring each other in the most intimate of ways. He could practically feel her hands on him, her sweet heat wrapped around him so tightly it made his whole body shiver.

Her eyes never left his during the entire minute, boring into him. With each passing second, Draco was not only reminded of the heat of the night before, but also of the crushing loneliness that had followed.

Because that's how he felt, now that he'd found the pinnacle of joy and lost it all in one go.

He wanted to be with her and touch her, but that wasn't what she wanted. It wasn't something he could have.

So for now, standing across the ice from her, he settled for looking at her.

Remus praised them for acing the exercise on the first go.

And when he asked them to do a run through of their Original Dance, Draco knew it was flawless. This time, sparks flew between them as their bodies moved as one on the ice.

But at what cost to his heart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FLANGST ON ICE CONTINUES TO BE FLANGSTY
> 
> We're still 6 years away from the great Chapter 1 incident. Next chapter there's a bit of a time jump. 
> 
> Writing this chapter was awkward and so, so fun!
> 
> Take care, dear readers!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later. It's close to Hermione's birthday, and Draco is otherwise occupied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Timeskip! 
> 
> I'm glad all of you loved the awkward smut. Hermione and Draco still have a long way to go. 
> 
> Much love to Graceful Lioness!

**September 2010 - Two Years Later**

"Good! Again!"

Hermione's muscles relaxed as Draco set her back down on the ice. His hands lingered around her waist as they crossed the rink to reset for the next run through.

"How'd that one feel?" Draco muttered as they got back into position, her back pressed into his chest, her head leaning against his shoulder.

"It's getting better. I'm starting to feel really secure during our second lift." Hermione's mind flashed to just minutes ago when she had been balanced precariously on Draco's right shoulder; she thought about the feeling of his strong hands pressing firmly into her sides as they spun together, nearly lost in the dizzying rhythms of this year's Free Dance selection.

"I'm glad. I've got you." Draco patted her shoulder.

"Stop whispering and get ready!" Snape's voice cut across the arena. "This is your last run-through without costumes."

Before Hermione had the chance to say something else, music filled her ears. The growl of the trumpet felt entirely sensual, and she allowed that feeling to course through her veins, filling the sway of her hips and the curl of her fingers. She and Draco circled each other on the ice, hands never straying from each other's bodies, eyes trained on each other.

He gave a small smirk and she met it in return.

A disembodied voice in the track counted them off. " _Five, Six, Seven, Eight!"_

The music took a drastic turn, the manic sounds of ragtime took over, and with it, the fast-paced and highly technical footwork began. _All That Jazz_ was far and away the most challenging piece they had ever taken on, but it was definitely fun. And thank goodness for small miracles like that, because with any luck, they'd take the piece with them all the way to the International Skating Union's World Championships in the Spring. Now that they were competitors in the senior division, there were multiple international competitions for them to attend and conquer, and she and Draco were determined to win them all.

This year was a comeback season for them. Last season— _an Olympic season of all things_ , hadn't worked out as anticipated. Draco's shoulder gave him trouble for a time. And then, once they were finally feeling ready to compete, Hermione strained her ankle. They ended up taking it easy and foregoing the Olympics for the second time in a row.

It had been beyond difficult to watch their peers and rivals compete in Vancouver, particularly Fleur and Roger from France as well as Cedric and Cho. The former ended up with bronze, while the latter didn't even make the podium. Still, the chance to be there had slipped from their grasp once more.

As much as they wanted to wallow for a while, there hadn't been much time for heartbreak. Hermione was too busy attending daily physical therapy sessions and Draco… he was too busy with his girlfriend.

Millicent Bulstrode was not exactly who Hermione would have picked for Draco. She was beautiful, yes, but only physically. Her personality left a lot to be desired. In fact—and Hermione rarely used this word—she was kind of a bitch. Millicent materialised around the same time that Hermione was attending intensive PT. With her attention focused on healing, Draco seemed to have gotten bored, because one day he simply showed up with Millicent on his arm and a stupid grin on his face, insisting that he had met the sweetest, prettiest girl. In reality, she was the daughter of a company that provided leather to make ice skates, and Hermione had her suspicious that none other than Lucius Malfoy had his hand in the whole thing.

Hermione didn't like to think about it much.

"Tighten up your feet!" Snape's voice carried over the music.

She chose to focus on skating instead of the strange pangs of jealousy that sometimes gripped her stomach.

Besides, what was between her and Draco… what _had been_ between them… it was a thing of the past. They had that one night nearly two years ago, and that was the beginning and end of it. When she'd woken up beside him the next morning and felt his erection pressing into her, she panicked. It was clear that he wanted to go again. The look on his face was enough to tell her that much: he'd looked at her like a lovesick puppy, a mile-wide, dopey grin spread across his sleepy face.

It was then that Hermione knew she had to say no to a second time.

If they'd had sex again that morning, she'd have been entirely gone with a lovesick expression of her own. And that, more than anything else, terrified her.

Draco Malfoy was somebody. He'd always been somebody and always would be. But she…

_You, my dear, are common… unexceptional, and can be replaced easily enough._

Lucius's words from nearly a decade ago had never left her.

If she allowed herself to develop any sort of feelings for Draco, she was setting herself up for heartbreak. Because it wouldn't last. How could it? And when he eventually ended things, where would that leave her? No profession. No best friend.

Just a shattered heart.

Did she still think about that night? Of course she did.

Did she remember exactly how her best friend's skin felt against hers? How he drove into her with abandon, driving her to heights unknown? Unquestionably.

But that wasn't something she could focus on. Draco was happy with Millicent, a girl far more socially suited to him, and their skating was better than ever. And that was more than enough.

The music built up to a frenzied finale, and they transitioned into their final lift of the routine. It involved Hermione lying taut against Draco as he lifted her at face-level, his arms straight upward to keep her in place. Her stomach was lined up perfectly with his face, and though she couldn't see it, she knew his expression was set with determination and focus. They spun together to the beat of the song.

It was dizzying, but not because of how fast they were going.

They hit their final pose, and the music cut off almost instantly. All that was left in the arena was the sounds of their heavy breathing. And then—

"Oh my god, that was so good!"

Rapid applause echoed across the otherwise empty arena, and Hermione didn't have to even take a guess as to who was complimenting them with such undeserved enthusiasm.

"Millie, hi." Draco waved to her after he set Hermione down on the ice again. He lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, giving Hermione a front row seat to his hard-earned, defined stomach. Under different circumstances, she might have taken the opportunity to sneak a peek. But now….that view wasn't for her. Not anymore.

As Hermione collected herself, Draco skated over to the edge of the rink where Millicent was eagerly waiting. He came to a stop and leaned over the rail to kiss her soundly.

Making a face, Hermione turned away and rolled her eyes. The two of them had never been shy about affection. And it was one thing to know that Draco had a girlfriend, but it was something else entirely to see it play out in front of her.

Snape, it seemed, agreed. He was eyeing Draco and Millicent as though they were particularly annoying mosquitos that wouldn't stop buzzing in his ear. He cleared his throat and the two lovebirds sprang apart.

"Miss Bullstrode, as I have told you many times, this is a closed practice." Snape's tone was almost bored. Hermione couldn't remember how many times he'd reminded her. It had been at least eight. "You may see Mr. Malfoy after he is done for the day. Until then, please wait in the lobby."

Hermione stepped out of the rink to remove her skates as Millicent made some sort of pathetic whining sound. After a few moments, Hermione heard her call out, "Bye, Drakey! I'll be waiting for you just out here!"

"Really? Drakey?" Hermione elbowed Draco lightly in the ribs when he joined her. "How can you stand her?"

"She's really sweet. Always has a smile on her face and asks about me. It's kind of nice, having my own personal cheerleader." Draco took a swig of water and swished it around his mouth before gulping it down. "Plus, well—" He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth raised in a smirk. "You really want to know?"

"Blech, no." Hermione stuck her tongue out and stepped out of one of her skates. "I'd prefer it if you only swapped saliva when I wasn't present."

Draco just shook his head and undid his skates as well. They'd be back on the ice shortly, but needed to change into street shoes to put on their costumes.

"Well then you'll want to be out of the flat tonight."

"Having her over?"

"I'm hoping to."

"Well it's good I have plans, then."

Draco raised a brow. "You have plans?"

"Going to see Viktor. The usual."

Draco nodded, his mouth forming a soft 'o'. "You've been spending a lot of time with Viktor recently."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "He's my physical therapist, Draco. Even though I don't see him every day anymore, it's still every other day so that he can help my ankle."

The two headed backstage to the changing area, where the garment bags with their new costumes awaited them. Sure enough, they were hanging in adjoining rooms. Hermione entered hers, leaving the door cracked open so she and Draco could continue their conversation.

"Still, you always have nice things to say about him." Draco's voice came filtering through the doorway.

"That's because he _is_ nice. Unlike _someone_."

A pause, then, "Hey! Millie is…"

"If you say 'nice', I swear I'll stab you with my toe pick."

"Well, she _is_ nice. I don't know why you have such a problem with her."

Hermione didn't want to bring up the countless times she'd caught his girlfriend staring daggers at her or had cut off her words in conversation. Draco seemed so enamored with Millicent that Hermione didn't want to hurt her best friend by tainting the angelic image he had painted in his head.

"I don't have a problem with her." Hermione sighed as she pulled off her training clothes.

"Plus, you know, she's incredibly hot."

"Ugh. Why do men always think with what's in their trousers?"

"We do not! I already told you that she's sweet."

Hermione certainly had nothing to say about that.

They dressed quickly and quietly. Hermione shimmied on the flapper dress designed specifically for her. It sparkled in the light, black and glamourous. Whenever she moved, beaded fringe swayed along with her body. It was a bit more low cut than she was used to, and the skirt was little more than extended fridge that left little to the imagination. It was very sexy. Not exactly the sort of thing she normally wore. But it fit the style of this year's show and would definitely be fun to dance in.

She gave an experimental twirl and giggled at the way her dress swished around her.

"What are you laughing about in there?" Draco called. "I'm almost done."

"It's my dress. Madam Malkin's outdone herself this year."

"Has she?"

Hermione continued to eye herself in the mirror. "Come see for yourself." She heard shuffling from the room beside her and the padding of Draco's feet.

"Just as long as it's not too sparkly. You know I… don't…"

Hermione turned to see Draco standing in the doorway. He looked very handsome in this year's costume—black trousers with a white, button-down shirt and a bowtie and suspenders. Whatever he was trying to say, the words died on his lips. Instead, his mouth was slightly agape, his pupils dilated until his grey eyes looked black. He licked his lips as his cheeks flushed.

Hermione gave a small twirl. "Well? What do you think?"

"You—that… Hermione, you look—"

"Drakey! I'm so glad I found you— _oh_."

The unmistakable shrill tones of Draco's beloved _Millie_ faded the moment the dark-haired girl appeared just outside the changing area. Hermione watched her take in the scene in the dressing room: Draco watching a girl who was _not_ his girlfriend as she tried on a very revealing dress.

To his credit, Draco seemed a bit annoyed. He turned to face her, arms crossed over his chest. "Millie, Snape told you to wait in the lobby. We just have a couple more run-throughs in costume and then we're done and I'm all yours for the night."

Millicent pouted, pushing lightly against Draco's chest. "Oh, but Drakey, I just wanted to see how handsome you looked before anyone else!" She shot Hermione a nasty look over his shoulder. "But it looks like I'm second."

Hermione waved the concern off as she turned away. "Don't worry about it, Millie. You can look all you want."

Draco, as perceptive as he could be, didn't seem to notice the poisonous smile creeping across his girlfriend's face.

"Of course." She pulled back so she was face to face with Draco. "Drakey, why don't you run back to the rink so you can finish as soon as possible. I've got a lot of _plans_ for us tonight."

Hermione felt her cheeks heat. She deliberately turned to stare at her duffel bag as Draco practically whimpered.

She'd heard the sound only once before, when she'd sunk down on him to the hilt. It had been over two years, but she remembered it clearly. And it wasn't something she would allow herself to think about, no matter how horrible his girlfriend was.

After a moment, she heard Draco clear his throat. "R-right. Millie, can you go wait in the lobby. I _swear_ we'll be as quick as we can."

Like a well-trained dog, Draco immediately took off down the corridor toward the rink. Sighing, Hermione made to follow him, but Millie blocked the door with her arm.

"Let's _talk_ , shall we, Hermione?"

Her eyes were slightly crazed, lips curled in a menacing grimace. Hermione drew back.

"Er, sure, Millie. We can talk."

"Don't you dare—" She stepped closer, sneering. "—call me _Millie_. Only my _friends_ and _boyfriend_ have the right to call me that. It's _Millicent_ to you."

Hermione swallowed and moved backward, raising her hands in surrender. "Right. _Millicent_. Sorry."

Millicent didn't back down, but instead, pressed forward. She nearly towered over Hermione, her sharp eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. "I know you _have_ to skate with my boyfriend, but don't forget that on the rink and off, he's _mine_."

Hermione blinked, opening and closing her mouth a few times before she could muster up any words. "Millicent, I—there's nothing going on between Draco and me. We've been friends for years—"

"Don't be daft, Granger. I see the way he looks at you. And the way you can't stop ogling him. I have eyes."

"I don't—How he… looks at me?"

"And I know all about your birthday plans with him tomorrow. Just because you train with him all day and are flatmates does _not_ mean that you have the rights to his weekends." Millicent's lip curled, revealing perfect, pearly teeth. Somehow, they didn't make her any prettier. "I'm going to need you to forget about those plans, because I've decided that Draco and I are going clubbing tomorrow."

Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat. She needed to fight this. Fight back. This… this _bitch_ wasn't about to steal her best friend away over some wrongly-placed jealousy. It made no sense. But before she could gather her thoughts, Millicent was speaking again.

"He's _mine_ , Granger. And don't you forget it." Millicent placed her hands on her hips and retreated back to the doorway. "Now, I'm going to be a good girlfriend and wait in the lobby for Draco. And you'd better make yourself scarce tonight, because we're going to make _excellent_ use of that flat you inexplicably share."

Before Hermione could get in another word, she flounced away.

It was with slight numbness that Hermione made her way back to the rink. Any excitement she felt about her beautiful costume had long since evaporated. The black beads felt itchy and heavy against her skin. Compounded by the growing pit in her stomach, she nearly felt ill by the time she arrived at the ice.

She chided herself silently. She had no right to that sense of dread. Millicent may have been horrible, but Draco had the right to date whomever he pleased.

Draco wasn't hers. Not really. She'd always known that. But somehow, to lose him to a girl like Millicent felt like near betrayal.

Yet, confronting him about Millicent's awful behavior when he was convinced she was an angel didn't feel right either. All she wanted was Draco's happiness, and he seemed so, so happy. After all he had done to help her through her darkest hours, she owed him. If Millicent was what he wanted, well... she could stomach that.

"Your dress is killer, by the way." Draco skated up to her as she laced up on the benches beside the rink. "Perfect fit for the song. You were right about Madam Malkin."

"Hmm." Hermione shot him a close-lipped smile. "Let's do this."

If Draco noticed that she was off, he didn't say anything. They got in position at their starting point and Snape signaled the music to start. The trumpets growled again, and suddenly, Hermione was incredibly aware of just how much _touching_ this routine involved.

Draco's hands were all over her. And hers outlined the contours of his arms and torso with near-reverence.

As much as she loved it, this time, it felt… off. Hermione couldn't quite immerse herself in the dance as much as she normally did. She missed her cue for the second lift and it was all Draco could do to keep her on his shoulder.

By the time the song ended, Snape was pinching the bridge of his nose—a sure sign of frustration.

"I'm sorry," Hermione sighed as Draco let her down. "I'm just… not feeling myself. I must be tired."

"It's Friday, Hermione. We've had a long week. You're fine."

"It is _not_ fine." Snape snapped at them from the side of the rink. "You have your first competition in a matter of weeks, and that was the worst run-through you've had since August."

Hermione's stomach sunk.

Their coach frowned at the two of them, his eyes narrowing. "Let's call it a night. I will see you both on Monday. And Miss Granger?" He shot her the same glare that never failed to send a chill through her veins. "Do try to focus next time."

It was all Hermione could do to stop herself from fleeing the rink. She threw on her street clothes at lightning speed, nearly leaving her changing area with her jumper on backwards.

"Where are you headed so fast?" Draco poked his head out of his changing area as she made her way past.

"Appointment with Viktor. Can't be late."

Draco nodded, frowning slightly, before his eyes lit up. "Oh. Are we still on for tomorrow night? Big birthday celebration?"

Hermione swallowed. Millicent's venomous words filled her ears.

_Draco's happiness. Think of his happiness._

"Er, I think I'm going to have to cancel."

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Cancel? Why? Is something wrong?"

Hermione's insides flip-flopped at the concern in his voice.

_He's your best friend. Of course he's worried about a sudden cancellation for your birthday._

"Oh, no!" She plastered a fake smile on her face. "You can do something with Mill...icent. I… er… I decided to spend the day with my mum."

"Your mum?"

"Yeah. She… gets lonely on my birthday. Thought we could have a girls' night."

Draco slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and placed a hand on her upper arm. His eyes bore into hers. "If you're sure."

"I am." She managed a weak smile. "Besides, it means you'll be able to do something with Mill...icent."

For some reason, this suggestion didn't bring a stupid grin to Draco's face. Hermione tried to shake the worry from her system. She gave his shoulder a light, playful shove. "I've got to get to Viktor. Now go. Don't keep your girlfriend waiting."

Draco offered her one final glance over his shoulder before tearing off down the corridor toward the exit.

"I just really— _ooh_ —don't like— _agh_ —her."

Hermione moaned into the doughnut shaped pillow on the massage table as Viktor stretched and worked the muscles in her leg.

"That does not surprise me, Hermee-nee. She sounds awful."

"She is. I—"

"Deep breath."

Hermione inhaled through her nose and held it. Viktor pressed down on her leg.

"And out."

"—have no idea how Draco stands her."

"You said she has big breasts?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, though no one could see the movement. "Yeah."

"That is why."

Hermione thought about her own, relatively flat chest. It was currently pressed into the massage table and frankly, not particularly impressive. That only made her feel worse.

"And you want to know the cherry on top?"

"Tell me, Hermee-nee."

"Now I don't have any birthday plans. Draco and I were supposed to go out for drinks tomorrow. But Millicent basically forced my hand to take him clubbing instead."

Viktor didn't say anything as he dug his careful fingers into the area of her ankle with the most pain. Hermione winced and groaned slightly. Only when he finished there did he speak again.

"Did you ask him vat _he_ vanted?"

Hermione sighed into the pillow. "...No. But she's his girlfriend. And they're stupidly happy together. It's disgusting. I'll just… go see a movie tomorrow or something. I've heard _Easy A_ is fun."

Viktor worked his hand into the bottom of her foot. "You know, if you vant company for your birthday, I could take you out for a drink."

Hermione lifted her head slightly, turning it just enough to see Viktor's thick eyebrows rise. "You… want to take me out for a drink?"

"No one should spend their birthday alone."

The sincerity of his tone gave Hermione pause. She placed her face back onto the pillow. "Doesn't that violate some sort of patient relationship clause or something?"

Viktor pressed onto the ball of her foot, and she heard him chuckle. "Not to vorry, Hermee-nee. I am not pursuing romance, I promise. I just happen to know a good place to get delicious cocktails near here. And maybe ve can spend some time together. I enjoy your company."

Hermione considered the offer as Viktor finished her massage. Spending her twenty-first birthday with her physical therapist wasn't exactly what she had in mind. Sure, Viktor was nice. But he was much older than she was and his conversation wasn't particularly… stimulating. He was more of a good listener than anything.

But still… The thought of spending her birthday alone in a cinema was enough to make her cave.

"Okay, then. Drinks it is."

By the time her session was over and she had grabbed a quick dinner, it was well past dark. Surely if Draco and Millicent were back at their flat, she'd be able to sneak past them unnoticed. And if they were in a shared space like the living room or kitchen…

She'd cross that bridge when she came to it.

Making sure to put in earbuds before she entered, Hermione unlocked the door and tiptoed to her room, which was at the end of a carpeted hallway. On her way, she passed by Draco's room. The lights were off, and though she didn't hear anything particularly loud or obscene, Hermione made sure to turn up the volume on her music just in case.

The next morning, Hermione stayed in bed longer than usual in a vain attempt to have a lie in. And to avoid running into Millicent. But years of waking up before the sunrise stuck with her, and she was wide awake around seven.

Her birthday morning included lounging for a bit, reading from a new novel she'd picked up recently. She snuck out of her room for a bit to grab some fruit and yogurt, careful to tiptoe around in case Millicent was still around.

Mum called after that. Then she read some more. It was turning out to be one of her duller birthday weekends.

Although her birthday wasn't officially until tomorrow, her weekdays started so early that she rarely liked to go out on Sundays. Today, then, was supposed to be her day to celebrate.

And since Millicent had claimed Draco for the day, it looked as though this was it. Until her drink with Viktor later, at least.

Hermione was eventually so bored that when Viktor texted just after lunch, she was quick to respond. He asked if she wanted to join him early to go see a movie.

Very briefly, Hermione strained her ears. She heard Draco singing along with the radio in the shower, and she doubted that was something he would do with his girlfriend in tow. Millicent didn't seem like the kind of girl who appreciated his off-key warbling.

Still, he was singing some sickening love song.

Hermione texted him back saying that she'd love to.

A quick outfit change and a note about visiting Mum scribbled to Draco later, she was out the door.

Spending time with Viktor outside of her PT sessions was unexpected to say the least. During their normal time together, he was quiet, rarely speaking much. But outside of that setting, Hermione found Viktor to be quite the chatterbox.

Not only that, but he was also charming to boot. Hermione couldn't stop the smile that spread on her face as he described some of his best football moves from his professional days.

True to form, he didn't try to pursue anything romantic with her as they took the Supertram to the cinema. Instead, he laughed and winked at other girls passing by. When they watched _Easy A_ , he made no attempts to hold her hand or touch her. Instead, they just shared a bucket of popcorn and laughed their way through the entire movie.

By the time the credits were rolling, Hermione decided that without question, Viktor was meant to be her friend. This came as somewhat of a relief in some ways. She'd heard multiple times that an athlete's relationship with a physical therapist was a very intimate one. And it was true—Viktor often had to touch her in very specific, sometimes awkward places. But seeing Viktor like this—knowing that he was just as kind off the clock was reassuring.

It was nice to have another friend in her insular world. Sure, she had Draco. She'd always have Draco. But Draco also had a life outside of the two of them, so it was important for Hermione to find others.

Preferably non-skaters who she didn't have to compete against.

While Viktor focused on the end of the credits Hermione checked her smartphone. A little notification on her screen showed a missed text from Draco.

**Got your note in the kitchen. Have fun with your mum! Say hi for me. I'm off to see Millie. She's going shopping for an outfit for tonight. Wants me to tag along. Can't wait to spend tomorrow together.**

The text was accompanied by a photo that he'd sent forty-five minutes later. In it, he was clearly sitting outside of the fitting rooms in some fancy, brand-name shop. Judging by the deadpan expression, he was bored out of his skull.

Even though she chuckled at Draco's dramatics, Hermione fought an internal grimace. When she left the note for Draco this morning, she had lied by omission. Instead of telling Draco that she was going to meet her mum, she had simply said she was going out. He believed she was comforting her mother instead of having fun with her charming physical therapist.

Guilt gnawed away at the edges of her, but the memory of the malice in Millicent's face was enough to keep it from reaching the most fundamental parts of herself.

Hermione left the cinema with Viktor and the two of them strolled through a local park en route to the bar with delicious cocktails. They chatted about easy things. Sports. The weather. Their favourite movies. It was nothing earth-shattering, but the conversation was pleasant enough. What Hermione truly appreciated was how good of a listener Viktor continued to be. True, he interjected more than he normally did during treatment, but as Hermione expressed her enthusiasm for _The Princess Diaries_ , he asked her to explain her interest and seemed genuinely interested in her answer.

And when a slight nip bit the air around them, he offered her his jacket.

He really was charming, Viktor.

For some reason, that only made her think of Draco. It made her think of how well Draco cared for her. How he always seemed to know what she needed, even if she couldn't articulate it. He just knew.

And that thought, compounded with a buzz in her purse, brought a fresh layer of guilt.

What was she doing, telling Draco she was with her mum?

As they neared the bar, Hermione pulled her phone out and read over his message.

**Tacky outfit check.**

The words were accompanied by a mirror selfie of Draco. He was clearly all dressed up for his night out. The sweatpants he usually wore on Saturday nights around their flat were replaced with tight jeans, and he traded his usual sweat-wicking shirts for a plain T-shirt and dark blazer.

Hermione swallowed.

She could feel the tendrils of jealousy creeping up her throat.

Draco always looked good. There were no qualms about that. But to see him look so put-together off the ice sparked a fluttering in her chest that she had been trying to tamp down for so long. The more Hermione looked, it was as though the spark was fanned into a flame that burned through her, licking at the edges of her sense of control.

He was not hers.

Not hers to ogle.

Or even think about.

Millicent had made that clear.

Hermione had gotten a single taste of the man in the picture, and that's all she would ever get. All she _could_ ever get. Because she wouldn't lose Draco. She couldn't. Ever.

Instead, she fumbled with her screen and typed a quick **Looking good!** before shoving the device back in her purse.

Viktor held the door to the bar open for her, and she smiled as she passed him.

She needed to focus on what was actually going on in front of her. On Viktor. On their newly discovered friendship. On the drinks he was offering to buy. On the fact that it was her birthday weekend, dammit, and she should be celebrating.

After staring at the menu for what was likely an absurd amount of time, Hermione settled on something brightly-coloured and fruity, with a slice of pineapple tucked into the rim. Viktor laughed at her choice and then ordered the exact same thing for himself. Together they sipped their drinks and munched on chicken satay and fritters, and thirty minutes later, Hermione was feeling far more relaxed. Thoughts of Draco and Millicent had drifted to the back of her mind, where she hoped they'd stay for the rest of the night.

"So you're telling me that wasn't considered a foul?" Hermione practically choked on a mouthful of her second fruity beverage as Viktor recounted a particularly nasty encounter with a football player from Ireland.

"It vasn't." Viktor shook his head and popped another fritter in his mouth. "And the vorst part was how this player gloated after the game. Like he vas some sort of lucky charm for the rest of his team. It vas disgusting."

Viktor certainly had a wealth of experience as a professional football player, and his stories seemed endless. Hermione supposed she was likely the same when it came to dance and ice skating. But considering they were both athletes, endless stories seemed like fair game.

Conversation was pleasant enough that time passed easily. Hermione only thought about peeking at her phone a couple times. By the two hour mark, a kind of confidence had taken hold inside her chest.

She could do this—have a life outside of Draco. There were other people out there who could make her feel comfortable and open. She wasn't going to have to hang on Draco's arm forever, even as his attention was pulled elsewhere by pretty girls.

It was a relief, in a way. Knowing that in the end, she would be fine on her own. But it also left her chest feeling hollow.

She pushed that particular feeling away by ordering another tiki drink.

As she and Viktor enjoyed their evening, Hermione tapped her foot to the beat of the background music. Whoever owned the bar was clearly a fan of music of the 60's. By the time she was halfway through drink three, she was positive she'd been through most of her dad's old record collection.

It wasn't exactly music of the pacific islands, but it was a nice touch to the evening. She hummed as Viktor recounted more stories. There was no cake or singing, nor would she be falling asleep tonight beside Draco, as she had been doing for the past several birthdays, but today would suffice.

Around eight o'clock she checked her phone again. There were no new messages from Draco. Hermione imagined him to be out with Millicent somewhere, having a grand time. Hermione imagined that, ever the gentleman, he opened doors for her and draped his jacket over her shoulders when she got cold. Maybe they had arrived at the club by now, and he was holding her close on the dance floor. Maybe they were just having drinks, like she and Viktor.

Maybe they had already found a secluded corner.

The hollowness beneath her breastbone reappeared at that thought.

She re-focused on Viktor. Or at least, she tried to.

Ten seconds into the next football story, a new song in the 60's rock and roll repertoire filled the bar. It was a familiar riff of eclectic instruments. French horn and harpsichord and accordion. A melancholy one she'd heard countless times, mostly in Dad's car. Once, she'd heard it in person.

Suddenly, Hermione was not in a tiki bar in Sheffield at all, but instead, in the back seat of Dad's old green car, watching the street lamps flash by every few seconds.

" _This is a big night, bug!" Dad peeked back at her in the rearview mirror. "Your very first concert."_

_Six year-old Hermione pouted, folding her arms across her chest. "I don't wanna go to the beach. It's too cold."_

_Mum and Dad chuckled._

" _We're not actually going to the beach, Hermione. That's just the name of the band. The Beach Boys."_

_It turned out that her parents were right. There wasn't a single sand castle or wave at the concert. Hermione spent most of the night in Dad's arms as he swayed and sang along to the music. She nodded along to the beat, soaking in all the people around them who were singing and clapping their hands. A shiver ran up her spine, but Dad held her close._

_Just five years later, Hermione found herself surrounded by a similar scene. So many things in her life had just changed. She was no longer a full-time ballet student, but instead, she had to practice ice dancing with a boy who had an ego the size of a planet. This concert was a welcome break from all that._

_Unlike the last time she saw The Beach Boys, this time it was just her and Dad. This go-round, she knew most of the words and sang an off-key duet with Dad from the moment the stage lights flashed._

_Dad didn't pick her up this time, but she leaned into him for most of the concert._

_Years later, during the very last time Dad drove her up to Sheffield, Hermione sat in the passenger seat. The spring wind was just warm enough that she begged Dad to let her roll down the windows. Cool wind blew against her cheeks and whipped her hair as they drove, and it had been such a comfort._

_She had been confused on that car ride. Draco had been pulling away for so long, and the thought of facing another long season with only his cold shoulder for company was a lonely one._

_But in that moment, she had Dad. She had someone to lean on._

_As if he could sense her worry, he had reached over and held her hand over the console. He didn't let go all the way to Sheffield._

Hermione had cherished every second she spent with Dad in that car, listening to music together.

That had been the last time they listened to The Beach Boys together.

She hadn't heard them at all since the Junior Grand Prix Final, when a couple had performed to _Fun, Fun, Fun_. She'd been so excited for Dad to see the routine and had spent the whole time imagining him sitting out in the crowd, tapping his toes and swaying to the beat.

But Dad hadn't ever seen that performance. And Hermione hadn't thought about them or listened to them at all.

Until now.

As the familiar melody danced through her veins, every inch of her body stiffened. The ease with which she had just been speaking with Viktor evaporated. Air grated against her lungs as she tried to take a breath.

Why did it suddenly hurt to exist?

Hermione gripped the edge of the table tightly. She tried to think about the way it felt beneath her fingertips. Smooth. Solid. A little waxy.

With her eyes, she focused on the way that the fairy lights above her head reflected off of her drink, making it look as though it was full of stars.

_If you should ever leave me_

_Though life would still go on, believe me..._

She wasn't ready to use all her senses, though. More than anything, she desperately wanted her ears to stop hearing, if only for a few minutes. Just until the song finished. Just until she could gather her thoughts and stop the horrible, heavy reality that she would never listen to this song with Dad ever again.

"—mee-nee?" Viktor's voice broke through her panic.

Hermione blinked and felt tears fell onto her cheeks.

"I'm fine." She sniffed and wiped at her face. "I'm fine, Viktor. Please continue with your story."

But Viktor did not continue. Instead, he leaned forward, his thick eyebrows furrowed with worry.

"You don't look fine. Vat's wrong? Is it something I said? Are you not feeling vell?"

He reached out and took her hand.

Viktor's fingers were rough. When his fingers worked the muscles in her leg or her lower back, they helped to relax her, but feeling them here, against her own hand, they felt wrong.

She didn't want Viktor's hands comforting her.

She wanted Dad's. They had been soft and warm the last time she had felt them. The last time they had driven together.

She wanted to hold Dad's hand more than anything.

And that was the one thing she couldn't have.

_God only knows what I'd be without you..._

Hermione was shaking now. It took all her concentration to stop herself from breaking down in the middle of a tiki bar.

She couldn't have Dad.

But she needed _someone_.

Someone _else_.

Someone whose hands were soft and whose words were comforting and whose presence could stop her from falling into a state of panicked grief.

Someone who had seen her at rock bottom and had picked up the pieces and held her.

Someone who made her feel loved.

She needed Draco.

_God only knows what I'd be without you..._

"I—" Her voice cracked as she stood. "I need to go."

Viktor stood, too. "Can I valk you home? Or call a cab for you?"

Hermione shook her head, her eyes pointed down at her toes.

"Vell… vill I see you on Monday, then? In my office?"

She nodded, praying to whatever god was listening that the song would finish playing and that she could stop remembering how alone she was.

Before Viktor could say anything else, Hermione grabbed her purse and turned on her heel toward the door. The night air hit her like a douse of cold water, and normally, when she'd had three drinks, she wouldn't have felt the chill so much, but grief was nothing if not sobering. Pulling her cardigan close, she made the fast walk to the nearest Supertram station.

If anyone noticed her sadness on the ride back to her flat, they didn't say anything. She stayed tucked in a corner until her stop was called. All the while, she hoped that the Supertram would go faster so she could just get home. That's all she wanted.

Hermione knew she'd be interrupting Draco and Millicent's date night.

He might not even be home yet.

But she wanted to be there when he arrived, because if he saw her like this, surely… surely he'd offer her at least a little comfort before he and Millicent went to bed.

Surely…

The memory of Millicent's sneer filled her mind, but she pushed on, practically jogging the last three blocks to their flat.

_God only knows…_

Hermione pushed open the front door, expecting to see a pitch-black entryway.

Instead, she was met by the soft glow of lamplight.

She was met with the sound of scrambling footsteps.

And then—

"Hermione?"

It was as though the dam around her heart she'd built in haste back at the bar came crumbling down. Her knees buckled under her and she sank down onto the area rug. The tears she'd been fighting spilled onto her cheeks, dripping down her nose and her chin.

And then he was there.

Arms wrapped around her, holding tight and secure. Hermione felt his hands pressing into her back.

These were the hands she needed.

Burying her face in the crook of his neck, she could finally breathe. The air in her lungs turned sweet and she shuddered as all the tension in her body finally released.

He felt like home.

"Oh, Hermione," Draco whispered, running his hand across her curls. "What happened? Was it something that happened with your mum?"

Hermione blinked. That's right. She had told Draco she'd been with her mum. Somehow, it didn't feel quite right to sustain that lie.

"Actually, I wasn't with my mum just now." She pulled back from Draco's embrace and looked down at her toes as she spoke. "I was with Viktor, and—"

"Viktor? You were with Viktor?" There was definite hurt in his voice, and it made Hermione's stomach squirm.

"I… was. He asked to spend the evening with me and…" She swallowed, dread filling her as she approached the admission she was dreading. It wasn't just a lie she was exposing, but a truth about Millicent that Draco wouldn't want to hear. "I lied about my mum."

Hermione looked up just in time to see Draco's mouth fall open.

"You… lied about seeing your mum so you could spend the evening with Viktor? Hermione… I… did you not want to spend time with me?" He was rambling now, and Hermione could see his lips quivering slightly. "I mean, you could have just said something."

"No, no." Hermione waved her hands in front of her. She had to squash this misunderstanding. The thought of Draco believing she didn't want to spend time with her made her heart clench. "I wanted to spend time with you tonight but… Millicent, she—"

"What about Millie?" Draco spat with surprising vitriol. It gave Hermione a moment's pause.

"She… she said she wanted to spend time with you tonight. And that because she was your girlfriend, she was more important. And I didn't want to cause a fight, so I… I made up an excuse."

Hermione watched as the colour drained for Draco's face, but she pressed on. "When our plans fell through, Viktor offered to keep me company. And we had a really good time, but then it went all wrong, and I—oh, Draco." She hiccuped and shook herself. Draco didn't need this kind of burden in the middle of a date. "I'm so sorry I lied. And I'm sorry I came home early. Did I interrupt you and Millicent?"

She looked around for signs of his girlfriend. For reminders that he wasn't hers. Not really.

Draco scoffed. There was a distinct bitterness in his voice as he muttered, "No, you didn't."

 _This_ brought Hermione right out of her despair. She pulled back, drying her eyes in haste.

It suddenly occurred to her that there was no sign of Draco's girlfriend anywhere. No jacket hanging by the door. No shoes or purse, either. Millicent had a horrible habit of letting the contents of her purse spill everywhere by the door.

The rest of the house was silent.

"Where's Millicent, Draco?"

He frowned and moved to sit on his haunches, his left hand still planted firmly on her shoulder.

"We broke up."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "You… broke up? But why? I thought you really liked her."

"I was wrong. She…" Draco scrubbed his face with his free hand. "She wasn't who I thought she was. And clearly, based on what you just told me, I made the right decision."

"What did she do?" Hermione felt an indignant anger bubble at the thought of that _bitch_ doing anything to make Draco this melancholy.

"Honestly—" Draco sighed. "—she said some really nasty things about you, Hermione. I mentioned how I was excited to spend your birthday with you tomorrow and she practically demanded that I ditch you. I… don't want to repeat the other things she said. And to think I believed she was actually sweet… I feel so stupid."

He looked up, eyes serious and shining in the lamplight. "Did she ever say anything to you, Hermione?"

Under different circumstances, she might have been more upfront. Ready to jump at the opportunity to tell.

But not now.

She just didn't have the energy for anger.

Instead, she shrugged.

"Honestly, Draco, I don't care about Millicent and what she said. I just… I just need you."

Draco seemed to understand, because the next thing Hermione knew, he had scooped her off the floor and into his arms. She half expected him to ask questions about what had happened during her evening with Viktor, but thankfully, he left the subject alone. Hermione wasn't sure she had the strength to revisit her dad's memory again tonight. Instead, she focused on the way his heartbeat thumped against her ear as he carried her past the living room and into her bedroom.

It was the sound she'd been missing. It beat a familiar rhythm against her cheek.

_God only knows what I'd be without you…_

When Draco set her down on the bed, he climbed right in beside her, pulling her to his chest.

"I missed this," he mumbled into her hair. "More than you know."

She nuzzled back. "But I _do_ know."

Hermione breathed Draco's scent. It had been so long since she had smelled this version of Draco—clean and fresh, like his shampoo, and beneath that, something soft and musky. Normally, he was covered in layers of sweat during a full day in the dance studio and on the ice. It had been months since she'd been able to take comfort in the way he smelled.

She soaked in the opportunity.

Who knew when she'd be able to do this again. Draco was handsome and charming enough that he would surely find another girlfriend before long.

But perhaps… just perhaps…

For now, could he be hers?

Just for a while.

Not forever. She wasn't ready to open her heart to that sort of possibility. Maybe she never would be. But for now, she wanted to be with Draco.

She just wanted to be with him. Wanted to feel him. Wanted to be as close as possible to him.

She wanted to love him and feel loved in return.

But on her terms. Just for now.

That wasn't too much to ask, was it?

Hermione pulled her face away from Draco's chest, keeping their bodies flush together. Looking up, she could see compassion in his eyes—compassion she knew he only reserved for her.

Her breath hitched when their eyes met, insides melting until she was sure that her body was full of nothing but the soft fluttering of her heart. She felt her cheeks flush when Draco reached down to her face to stroke her cheek, his thumb tracing her bottom lip with a gentleness no one but she knew he possessed.

"Draco, I—"

His lips found her cheek, and her words fell away. He'd kissed her there before, but those kisses had always been quick and enthusiastic.

This time, his lips lingered, the pressure barely there.

Hermione wasn't sure why, but her eyes fluttered closed.

His lips left her cheek for a moment and she was filled with a sense of loss until they found her again, this time on her forehead.

With every kiss Draco planted on her, each one gentler than the last, Hermione felt her resolve break. Her hands, which had been clutching the fabric of his shirt, traveled the length of his spine before making their way up his arms.

Draco's lips moved to her eyelids. First her left. Then her right.

Hermione's hands traveled across the length of his broad shoulders.

He kissed the tip of her nose.

Her hands settled onto the solid expanse of his chest.

They stayed like that for so long that Hermione thought perhaps, time had stopped and left them frozen in each other's arms. Perhaps they could just stay that way forever, wrapped up together.

There were far worse fates.

Draco breathed against her face in soft puffs, and Hermione felt her heart slow to a slow, steady thump in her chest.

She was home.

After an eternity, or perhaps only seconds, Draco pulled back just enough for Hermione to be able to see his whole face, which hovered just above hers.

Her breath hitched again as he looked down at her, his eyes clearly searching hers for the answer to some unknown question.

But whatever it was, her answer was unequivocally _yes_.

His eyes darted to her lips.

She swallowed.

Draco's face leaned forward just a little, and Hermione felt her entire body tremble.

This time, she kept her eyes open.

Draco's lips were so soft against her own. Hesitant but inviting. Hermione could feel his uncertainty in the way he didn't press insistently or ask for more, as though she might suddenly pull away if he did.

Hermione had no intention of pulling away. She wanted more. _Needed_ more. But she didn't want to scare Draco with how much she needed him—needed to feel him in any way she could. So she waited for him to come to her.

And he did.

It took two more soft kisses before his mouth slanted against hers, his lips parting to suck gently on her bottom lip.

Hermione groaned immediately, her fingers twisting into the shirt that stretched across his chest. _This_ was what she needed. She opened her mouth further and coaxed his tongue inside, sighing when he obliged her, his fingertips raking along her back as he explored.

His hands felt firm against her, but not in any way that was demanding. Draco was never like that. Their relationship had too many years of established respect for it to be any other way. No, the firmness she felt wasn't pushy. It was reassurance. It was to let her know that he was there, and that he was going to chase away her sadness.

Hermione's mouth pressed against his, and in a small moment of greed, she pressed her entire body flush against his.

She needed to feel all of him.

There were too many clothes.

Too much space between them.

Draco responded in kind, and once again, as if reading her mind, he slid a knee between hers and settled between her legs, bringing their centers together. Hips began to cant lightly as lips moved more urgently, and Draco whispered a soft, desperate-sounding, " _Hermione…"_

_God only knows that I'd be without you…_

"I need you." The words fell from her mouth easily, and she was too far gone to feel any worry or embarrassment with how true they were.

Draco pulled her closer, his words punctuated with firm, sweet kisses to her lips. "I need you too, Hermione. Please. _Please_ , can I see you? Touch you?"

Nodding didn't seem enough.

"Yes," she affirmed, leaning her head back so he could press his lips to her neck. "Yes, please touch me."

The awkwardness that had permeated every second of their first time was nowhere to be found as Draco helped her pull her dress over her head and as she unzipped his trousers and shimmied them down his legs. This was anything but awkward. There was a sense of confidence there—one that swelled inside of Hermione as they held each other close, hands running across skin and lips growing bolder with each passing minute.

Not that she had gained any more experience since the last time he was inside her. On the contrary, Draco was the only person she'd ever kissed. Ever touched like this. He was the only one she'd ever wanted to touch.

And so there was just a bit of melancholy in her soul with every inch of skin he traced with his hands. Because Draco did have other experience. It was very clear that she wasn't the only one for him.

That was why, no matter how much Draco's arms felt like home, this part of their relationship was only ever meant to be temporary.

Tonight's venture was all about seeking comfort for both of them. Hermione wasn't naïve. Draco had just broken up with his girlfriend and she… she just needed reminding that someone out there could love her.

Even if it wasn't in the way she really, truly craved.

It would be enough. It had to be.

Hermione chose not to let her thoughts linger on anything other than the feel of Draco's skin against her own and the way his hand was just the right size to cradle the back of her head as he kissed her with abandon.

Remaining garments were shed and then there was nothing. Nothing on them. Nothing between them. Nothing keeping them apart.

Hermione's lips parted and her whole body shivered as Draco hovered over her, one hand tracing her cheek with his knuckles.

His eyes were so soft like this—looking at her. It was the same way he looked at her on the rink. So full of trust and affection and if Hermione didn't know any better…

Well, she didn't want to go there. Not now. Not when she was already naked and vulnerable in front of him.

"Hermione…" Her name was a melody on his lips. A whole song. A _concerto_.

It nearly broke her heart.

"Can I?" He remained just out of reach as he asked, and Hermione was prepared to beg if she had to. Luckily, he seemed happy to oblige.

"Yes, Draco. Please." She turned her head to kiss Draco's hand, and by the time her lips pulled away from his fingers, he was already lined up.

There was still a stretch, much like their other time together. But there was no unpleasantness this time. No nervous anticipation. No giggling.

Instead, there was simply a sense of peace that flowed through Hermione's body from the moment he was fully seated within her, incoherent pleasure spilling from his mouth against the shell of her ear.

They moved like they did on the ice. It was like flying together—like practising the most arduous lift they could imagine only to find that it was exactly how their bodies were intended to move. And as Draco pushed in and out of her, Hermione finally knew she was exactly where she needed to be.

Within her walls, he was home. She was home. They both were.

Draco was her home.

_God only knows what I'd be without you…_

When he reached a steady rhythm, Draco's fingers found her clit and began pressing circles there with the pad of his thumb. Almost immediately, Hermione's hips began to shift in time with his, the motion of his fingers pulling her taut. She reveled in Draco's confidence, and for half a moment, was grateful for his expanded experience. But she didn't want her thoughts to linger there. Not now. Instead, she chose to focus on the melodious sensations winding their way through her body as the combination of his cock and fingers brought her world crashing around her.

She cried out, and for a long moment, perhaps eternity, all she felt was Draco.

As her orgasm began to ebb, Hermione watched the ecstasy in Draco's face start to grow. She committed it all to memory. The twitch of his brows and the way his mouth fell open…

He really was beautiful.

For everything he had done for her since Dad died, Hermione was sure there would never be a way to repay him. No way to truly express how grateful she was that he remained steadfast by her side.

But looking at his face now, _perhaps_ , she thought, she could give him pleasure.

Hermione pressed her hips more insistently against his, egging him on to increase the pace. Draco seemed to get the message, because he groaned and sped up.

He was close now.

Hermione moved with him until he cried out, his hips stuttering above her, pressing into her just a few more times before stilling entirely.

"Thank you," Draco breathed into her ear. " _Thank you."_

Hermione smiled up at her best friend, though beneath her ribcage, she found that her heart was aching as he rolled off her onto cool sheets.

 _Thank you._ The marker of a transaction.

She'd offered him comfort. They'd offered it to each other.

That was all.

Draco pressed a kiss into her shoulder, and for some reason, that only made the ache deeper.

They fell asleep in each other's arms, bare and exhausted.

As Hermione's eyes drifted closed, she thought she heard the faintest whisper.

"Happy birthday, Hermione."

Her heart clenched tighter as she heard Draco drift off beside her.

_God only knows what I'd be without you..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I basically cried writing some of this. For extra feelings, listen to God Only Knows while reading. Hermione still has healing to do and these two have a long way to go.
> 
> Do you hate Millicent as much as I do?
> 
> Thank you all for your patience as I took (another) week off. But this is my NaNo project, so I'm trying to get a lot written.
> 
> Take care, everyone!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Here's another chapter. I'm just coming off of 8 hours straight of lesson planning, so I have no capacity left to say anything else. 
> 
> Graceful Lioness is a goddamned hero. 
> 
> Enjoy.

**Spring 2011**

" _Oh, fuck."_

Draco groaned against the shell of Hermione's ear as his hips began to rock forward in a steady rhythm. He stood between her spread legs at the foot of her bed, his arms planted firmly on either side of her bouncing tits, fingers twisted in her pale purple sheets. Each time he sank deep inside of Hermione, a shock of pleasure shot through him, twisting all the way up his spine until he couldn't control the sounds coming out of his mouth.

She was so warm. So wet… Perfect, really. Perfect for him.

It should have been a dream—the kind he used to get back when they were teenagers sharing a cramped twin bed in their athletic dormitory. But it wasn't a dream. Not at all. This was his reality, seeing Hermione laid out naked and willing in front of him. Getting to have sex with her at his literal pleasure.

Draco's life had taken an odd turn in the last year. A good turn, of course, but an odd one.

It began the night he broke up with Millie and hadn't stopped since. His relationship with Hermione had shifted irrevocably in the last few months. In between the hours and hours of exhausting rehearsals each day, taking simple comfort in each other's arms morphed into finding comfort in an entirely new sense.

And frankly, especially at this moment, he couldn't have wished for a better outcome. Draco still wasn't sure exactly what had caused her relationship with Viktor to go so wrong, but he knew that it drove her straight into his arms. And when he took her to bed to offer nothing more than comfort, it evolved into… _whatever this was_ … before he could really process what was happening. There hadn't been any real, meaningful conversation between them in the moment. Just the look in her eyes and the tug at his heart had been enough to make him lean in to kiss her.

Since then, nothing had been the same.

Beneath him, Hermione arched her back, exposing the slender line of her neck. Draco was tempted to drag his lips and tongue across the skin there, venturing lower until he could take a nipple into his mouth. But doing that would mean abandoning other, sweeter pursuits. And right now, that was simply not an option. Instead, he used what little extra concentration he had left in him to swipe the pad of his thumb against her centre.

Draco took great satisfaction as Hermione began to pant and moan, her body becoming more and more taut with each stroke of his finger. The tightness extended to her cunt. When she was like this—so close to coming, she gripped him perfectly, like they were meant to fit together. He'd been with a couple other girls over the last three years. There had been Millie, of course, along with one-night stands he could count on one hand. And while those encounters had been pleasant enough, nothing was quite like sinking into Hermione over and over until they both reached oblivion. Part of that fact could be due to the fact that he'd always used condoms with those other girls. Always. But Hermione, because she was on the pill, insisted that they didn't need one. The sensation was mind-bending.

But it wasn't just the physical. Their connection was beyond that. Beyond sex. She was special to him, and that, in of itself, probably had something to do with how _good_ it all felt.

When Hermione finally gave in to her moans and she began to pulse around him, he let go, spilling into her. Instant relief washed over him. It was as though every worry in their lives had lifted and they existed in a plane all their own.

Draco pulled out and collapsed beside Hermione, boneless.

Beside him, Hermione shivered.

As he pulled the blanket that they'd kicked off the mattress over her, she reached for her newly-acquired smartphone. She squinted at the bright screen in the pale early morning light.

"It's nearly six. We should probably get up."

Draco groaned and grabbed a pillow to pull over his face. "Whatever happened to sleeping in during the off-season?"

Without even looking, he knew that Hermione was rolling her eyes at him.

"It's better than four o'clock and you know it." He felt the mattress move beside him and knew Hermione wasn't going to linger beside him in bed. During the times in their relationship when sex wasn't a factor and they were simply friends and skating partners, Hermione was all about cuddling. She loved to burrow her face in his chest and wrap her arms as far around him as she could. On nights when their interactions were purely platonic, she often remained in his arms for hours.

But times like these—when their relationship took shortcuts through places that weren't as platonic, Hermione wasn't much of a cuddler. When all was said and done, she was rather business-like in the way she finished up. Not cold, necessarily. Just not overly emotional.

Which, in a way, was kind of nice. After a long day on the rink, Draco had just enough pent-up energy to lose himself in Hermione and hold her close for a little while. But the thought of being in a relationship… all the effort it took for an emotional commitment… he just didn't have any space leftover for that at the moment.

He knew where he stood with Hermione. Where they would always stand. She was the one constant in his life, and he didn't want to ruin that by getting wrapped up in something as messy as an actual _relationship_ with her. Relationships came with pressure and the threat of breaking up.

With Hermione, there was no pressure. There never had been. With her, there was only safety. Comfort. And lately, pleasure.

"Get up, Draco!" Hermione leaned over the bed and smacked his bare arse playfully, breaking him out of his thoughts, and he responded through the sting with a scowl in her direction.

"Okay, okay. I'm _up_." Draco rolled to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over the side.

Hermione disappeared into the bathroom to shower while Draco's brain slowly returned to normal functioning levels.

"You better get some coffee in you," Hermione's voice called from the bathroom after the sound of the shower stopped, "because I refuse to do that last lift again while you're sleepy."

Draco trudged over to the closed bathroom door and let himself in. Steam immediately poured from within. "That was one time. And besides, did I actually drop you?"

"No, but your grip was loose."

While Hermione stood at her sink in a towel and dried her hair, Draco slipped past her to catch a shower, himself. When the blow dryer stopped, even over the roar of the water, he could hear her humming to herself as she worked. The sound made him smile as he scrubbed his scalp.

When he finally emerged from the shower stall, gone were her wild, loose locks that Draco loved. Instead, they were replaced by the usual tight bun. She must have put it up as soon as she stepped out. It really was such a shame… He loved her hair when she wore it down. Loved the way her curls bounced when she walked. Loved feeling their silky texture when they were wrapped around his fingers as he fucked her from behind.

His grip certainly hadn't been loose then.

Draco smirked and chuckled to himself at the memory.

"What in God's name are you laughing about this early in the morning?" Hermione's brows quirked in amusement as she walked back into her bedroom. Draco toweled off as she pulled her zip-up over her head and slung her pre-packed duffel bag over her shoulder. "I thought you were ready to go back to sleep over there."

Draco just shook his head. "Just thinking about how you're quick to criticise my grip on the ice, but that you never seem to remember the imprint of my fingers on your side from what we were just doing." His eyes darted to her bed, where her sheets now lay in a crumpled heap off to one side of the mattress. "Where's my praise for that?"

He watched with satisfaction as Hermione's eyes followed his and her cheeks bloomed pink at the insinuation of his words.

"I—you—" He could tell that she was picturing it too—the way he held her hips steady, his fingers digging into the muscular flesh just above her arse.

That was something else he enjoyed about this little arrangement he had with Hermione. She'd always been fun to rile up, ever since they were little. She just got so indignant. How could he _not_ push her buttons when he knew them so well? It was nearly impossible to miss when he got her all worked up, flustered by his words alone.

It bordered on flirting, and he knew that. But if they were already fucking occasionally, what did flirting matter?

"I'm just taking the mickey out of you." Now fully dressed, Draco stepped over to Hermione and elbowed her lightly in the ribs. "You want some toast?"

Her face immediately relaxed and her lips spread into a smile. "Yes, please. And a coffee."

When they finally had food and caffeine in them, they piled into the front seat Draco's car and drove past early morning traffic to get to Ice Sheffield. Draco had to admit that although he greatly enjoyed the freedoms that came with having his own flat with Hermione, there had been something simple about being able to walk to the rink every morning when they lived in the dormitories.

A handful of other skaters were already present by the time they arrived. Ron and Ginny were halfway through one of their routines while another couple—figure skaters—was stretching beside the ice.

If this had been a rehearsal for a competition, there would have been a certain tension in the air. The stakes would have been higher. But the warm smiles on everyone's faces and the sound of laughter echoing the empty arena made it clear that they were preparing for something with much lower stakes.

The Rock the Rink UK tour was set to begin in just over a week, and everyone present today was making the final tweaks to their own routines as well as the big group numbers. A quick check at the day's schedule revealed that they were set to get out on the ice to run their first number after the figure skating couple.

"Looking good out there," Hermione called when Ron and Ginny came off the ice.

"Thanks." Ginny wiped her face down with a towel and took a sip from her metal water bottle. "I can't believe we'll be on the road performing it soon. I mean, it feels like we were just getting started with last year's season."

"But it'll feel good to get in front of an audience again." Hermione continued conversing jovially as she laced up her skates. She and Ginny had always gotten on well. Ron joined their conversations sometimes as well, though the red-headed man was a bit of an oaf. It was clear that he harboured feelings for Hermione, what with the way his ears went pink around her and the way he sputtered like a fool.

But Hermione seemed not to notice. And whether it was because she genuinely liked Ron or whether it was out of pity, she always tried to include him.

Draco, however, would have preferred another bloke for Hermione. Someone who wasn't so… well…

He couldn't quite pinpoint what it was exactly that he couldn't stand about Ron Weasley, but he just knew he didn't like the idea of him and Hermione spending time together. She deserved someone better. Someone equal to her. She was just so special and Weasley just… wasn't.

When it was their turn to take to the ice, they skated out to the center and assumed the opening position from last year's Free Dance. The audience had loved their routine set to _All That Jazz_ , and so the Rock the Rink director had made the executive decision to include that routine along with two new ones among their selections.

In years past, Draco would have been sick of last year's competition pieces at this point. There were some songs he couldn't ever listen to again because they brought up too many memories of endless rehearsals and stressful days.

But there was something about the _All That Jazz_ routine that hadn't made those feelings surface. It probably had something to do with the fact that their fans went wild for it. Last season, each time they took to the ice, a roar echoed across the crowd as countless fans waved signs and cheered during specific moments of the show. They had gone crazy for it, and not just for some of the trickiest lifts they had ever attempted or the insanely fast footwork. No, some of the rowdier crows had gone especially wild for the parts of the routine when Draco and Hermione looked like they couldn't keep their hands off each other.

They had done sensual pieces before. It wasn't anything new.

But one big thing had changed, and Draco _knew_ it was affecting their skating.

They'd slept together. Had sex. With each other.

It had been the first time either of them had slept with anyone, and just _knowing_ what sex felt like had given context to their performance. And as much as Draco had hoped for more, Hermione had deemed once enough.

Draco supposed that she got what she wanted out of the experience. And she seemed to enjoy it enough.

For him, on the other hand… that night had changed everything. Even after he had gained more experience with other girls, he always found himself comparing them to Hermione. The weight of their breasts in his palm. The sounds they made when he pressed his hand into their centres. The taste of their lips and their cunts.

No one compared to Hermione.

Not that he would tell her. It seemed to be the sort of thing that would make her uncomfortable. Like cuddling after sex.

Ever since sex between them had become a regular thing, it was as though their skating had caught fire. Every touch in their _All That Jazz_ routine, at least for Draco, was fueled by memories of hours spent together, tangled in bedsheets or pushed up against the wall of their shared bathroom. It was nearly impossible for him to hold her upper thigh in his hand or wrap his arms around her middle without recalling how he held her here when they were naked.

And it must have shown on his face or in the way he held Hermione's body close to his. Because judging by some of their fans' screams, their routine was incredibly believable.

Today's rehearsal was no different from normal. Draco found that he was unable to separate himself from the images of Hermione's prone, naked body spread before him as his hands roamed her body for the sake of the performance.

From just beyond the barrier of the ice, he heard a wolf-whistle.

Ginny Weasley. She always egged them on.

Draco might have considered it an unnecessary distraction, but whenever she wolf-whistled, Ron turned scarlet and crossed his arms. So in the end, Draco supposed he didn't mind too much.

The song ended in a whirlwind of twizzles and one final lift that brought him and Hermione chest-to-chest.

Instead of the normal roar from the crowd, they were met with sudden silence as the music suddenly cut off followed by a stark smattering of applause from other skaters. By the time Draco released Hermione, the next performer was already taking to the ice.

He couldn't wipe the smile from his face as he and Hermione filed out and re-hydrated. Even though they would be performing nonstop for nearly a month all across the country, there was so much less pressure for Rock the Rink than there was for a regular competition. There were no medals to aim for, no scores to top… no one to compete against.

For the first time in a long while, skating with Hermione was simple again. Like they were kids practicing their twizzles together. Judging by the way Hermione beamed as she unlaced her skates, she was enjoying herself, too.

Normally, by a week out from competition, she was a bundle of nauseous nerves. But to see her _this_ relaxed and happy so close to a performance was a nice change.

Draco was mostly sure that all the extra sex had nothing to do with it.

Mostly.

A normal rehearsal day for the Rock the Rink tour would allow for some down time between run-throughs, but today their schedule was jam-packed. Before their rehearsal of _That's How You Know_ —maybe the sweetest, fluffiest piece they'd ever skated to—they had to film a handful of segments that would air before their various performances.

Skates hanging in their hands by their laces, the two of them tromped over to the backstage area to meet up with the camera crew.

The questions were fairly standard. They described each of their dances. They were asked about their skating partnership and how it had been sustained for ten years. The usual.

The only difference from usual interviews they gave was their mood. Normally, interviews were conducted right after competitions, when emotions were raw and nerves had been grated nearly all day. There was pressure to say the right thing and put out a strong image for the world to see.

During this interview, however, the camera crew was laid back and encouraged a certain amount of silliness. When Hermione got tongue tied trying to describe one of their dances and couldn't stop laughing, Draco couldn't help noticing that the camera never stopped recording.

"We want to capture who you really are," the producer explained when Draco inquired about the tactic after they finished the session. "The fans want to see the real people behind the near-perfect skating. Not the same broken record they hear when you're competing."

It made sense, Draco supposed, that fans wanted a glimpse inside their real lives. Wanted to see a bit of themselves tucked amongst their more well-known traits.

But knowing exactly what was going on between him and Hermione when no one was watching, he wasn't sure he wanted their private interactions captured on camera.

Somehow, that felt too exposed. It was strange enough having enthusiastic fans. And to think they might be privy to some aspect of his dynamic with Hermione? It was almost too much.

But he had a contract to fulfill, and they had already finished filming, so there was no point pitching a fit.

Draco didn't end up seeing any of the segments until just over a week later when he heard his voice echoing over the overly-excited crowd at the debut performance of Rock the Rink in Manchester.

" _There's no word out there to describe what Hermione is to me."_

High-pitched, frenetic screams were added to the general roar of the spectators. Hermione spoke next.

" _People always like to put a label on us, but after ten years of skating together, that's something I have a hard time doing."_

Even more screaming followed her words.

"People are so ridiculous." Hermione rolled her eyes beside him as they stood just behind the curtain that blocked off the head of the rink. "Honestly, is that the only reason why people like to watch us skate? Because they think we're… we're—"

"Dating? I mean, that's part of it." Draco shrugged and leaned down to double-check his laces.

Judging from her silence, she disapproved of this line of thinking. And for some reason, that didn't sit well in his stomach.

"Oh, come on, Hermione. The people out there _love_ us and just want to believe the stories we tell on ice. And that must mean we're telling some damn good stories." Draco reached out with his right hand and laced his fingers with hers. His stomach swooped with relief when she squeezed him back.

Just beyond the curtain, they heard the tell-tale sounds of their interview wrapping up and the crowd getting more and more excited.

"Just us out there?" The familiar word fell from her lips, though her eyes were fixed straight ahead.

Draco's lips twitched. "Just us."

A spotlight followed them from the moment they stepped beyond the curtain. Unlike a regular competition, this felt far more like putting on a show. And that meant the crowd was darkened and only the ice was illuminated, much like a stage.

When he and Hermione took to the center of the ice and assumed the now-familiar starting position with her back pressed against his front, Draco was suddenly struck with an idea that would _really_ make the audience scream.

He leaned forward so his mouth brushed the shell of her ear and covered it with his hand so the cameras couldn't catch their conversation.

"Let's really play it up for the audience. They want a story, so let's give it to them."

Hermione's eyebrows twitched and her eyes grew wide, but he saw her lips twitch into a smile.

The moment the growling trumpet filled the arena, the crowd roared as they recognised the routine that made it all the way to the ISU Championships and the Grand Prix Final. It had been a fan favourite performance, and Draco leaned into the screams as he ran his hands all over Hermione. She played into the story, too. The way her mouth fell open slightly and her eyes closed for a half a second reminded Draco more than a little of the faces he'd seen in their most private of moments, together in bed.

The audience went wild.

If there was one thing Draco loved—other than winning, of course—it was the adoration of a crowd.

By the time the song finished, the audience had damn near lost its mind. As they took their bows, chests heaving, Draco couldn't keep a smirk off his face. _They_ had made the audience go crazy like that, because those people out in the area seemed to fully believe that what they saw on ice was real. People _loved_ them for it.

Their two other performances for the show in Manchester went over with similar enthusiasm. The crowd laughed all throughout their performance of _That's How You Know_. And when Draco lifted Hermione above his head at the high point of _The Time of My Life_ , he could have sworn he heard someone yell, "Oh my God!" over the sounds of swooning.

It was exhilarating, being adored. But even more, there was something wonderful about making people believe in love, even if it was actually a bit of a farce.

When the show ended and all the skaters took their bows for the night, Draco was left with just enough energy to sign a handful of autographs for VIP ticket holders backstage before collecting his duffel bag and climbing onto the bus that would take him to the first of many hotel rooms.

No one batted an eye as he and Hermione said their goodbyes to everyone on the fifth floor and shuffling into a room together. They were, after all, flatmates. And the tour managers liked to save a pound when they could. Even Ron Weasley bid them a sleepy farewell with droopy eyelids.

It seemed that everyone was exhausted after their first performance. Draco wasn't really surprised, he thought, as he squeezed a small glob of toothpaste onto his green toothbrush. The beginning of competition season was like this as well. Everyone was tired at first, and the fun didn't really begin until they adjusted their internal schedules.

Draco suspected that in a few days, perhaps when their tour turned north toward Scotland, people would be more excited to go out to pubs or clubs after the shows. But for now, everyone was still getting used to all the travel and the busy structure of performing in a show.

That honestly suited Draco just fine. As much as he wanted Pansy to drag him to some posh bar, he'd much rather scroll through the hotel telly and order room service in his pyjamas with Hermione. Perhaps, if he set the right mood, she might even want to enjoy a romp in the bed.

Tonight she had no such desire.

By the time Draco exited the bathroom, Hermione was already wearing a fuzzy, purple dressing gown and had a room service menu in hand.

"I'm going to order some fish and chips. I just want something greasy. You want anything?" She reached for the receiver on her side of the bed.

Draco flopped onto the mattress beside her and grabbed the telly remote. "The same."

Within the hour, Hermione had nodded off beside him with _Inception_ playing in the background. They'd gone to see the movie together last summer, and while they had been on the edge of their seats at the cinema, the hotel bed was far too comfortable for them to even make it halfway through.

Only the slightest twinge of regret crossed Draco's mind as he turned off the telly and his bedside lamp. He would have much preferred to go to bed sated and pressed skin-to-skin with Hermione as they fell asleep. But he supposed that he really was very tired. Tomorrow was a new day, after all. Maybe Hermione would even be in the mood when they woke up.

With visions of possibilities for the morning dancing behind his eyelids, Draco cuddled into Hermione's back and fell straight asleep.

The morning, as it turned out, did not include any such possibilities. At precisely six o'clock, the room phone rang, rousing Draco from a deep slumber. Disoriented and sleepy, he fumbled for nearly a minute until he managed to pick up the receiver and mutter a poorly articulated, "wha z'it?"

Mornings on tour were not for sleeping in and recovering from the previous night's performance. They weren't even for quickies tucked beneath crisp hotel linens. Instead, Draco was informed during that phone call on the first morning that this was precious travel time they were wasting and that all the skaters would need to be in the lobby in the next thirty minutes.

Draco groaned into his pillow as soon as he hung up, mourning the loss of all those beautiful possibilities.

Hermione, ever the responsible skater, slid out of bed immediately to get ready. She rolled her eyes and shook her head at the way his erection tented the sheets.

"Honestly, Draco? _Now?_ "

"I can't help it," he grumbled as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. "I mean, I was kind of hoping—"

A knock and a sharp voice at the door cut Draco off.

"Oi! You two! We're going to hunt down some coffee in ten minutes if you want to join."

Hermione grimaced slightly and called back, "We'll be out soon, Ginny."

Draco cursed both Weasley siblings as he threw on travel clothes and shoved his few unpacked belongings into his suitcase.

If he couldn't have morning sex, then his fellow skaters had better find the best bloody coffee of his life.

Every single day of the tour proceeded like the first.

They were woken up early in the morning in one hotel or another, either by an alarm or a room call.

Someone would find cups of passable coffee before they all piled into a bus. If they were lucky, their destination wouldn't be too far and they would have time to explore or nap for a while before they had to prepare for the show.

If they were unlucky, their new destination was far away and they would have interviews scheduled after their arrival.

Unfortunately, more days were like that than not.

This meant far fewer trips to local pubs than anticipated and far, far less sex than Draco had imagined when he knew he'd be sharing hotel room with Hermione every day for a month. Granted, his original visions had included amounts of sex, that, in retrospect, were slightly unreasonable. But still…

After three weeks on the road and nothing but stress on his schedule, Draco was beyond fatigued. What had started out as a fun way to enjoy skating this Spring was quickly turning into something he wasn't sure he'd ever do again. Nearly every day saw them in a new city performing for a new crowd, meeting new fans and interviewing for another newspaper or magazine or television report.

Draco wanted to have the energy at the end of the day to hitch Hermione's ankles over his shoulders and give her pleasure until she moaned his name.

But that clearly wasn't in the cards.

Most days, the whole crew had just enough energy to get back to the hotel before offering half-hearted waves as they parted ways for the night. The moment they got to their room they'd change into pyjamas and collapse into bed.

On the few occasions that Draco did feel awake enough to have his cock stir, Hermione barely had the energy to crawl beneath the sheets. Those were the nights he took extra long showers and watched his cum go to waste down the drain.

He'd have much rather painted Hermione's arse with it. Or covered her tits. Or filled her up. Draco wasn't picky. Not really. Especially not after over three weeks of being able to see Hermione and touch her so freely on the ice every single day, but without being able to do so once they were in private.

It was driving him mad.

So much so that he began to feel rather pent up. That stress, compounded with general exhaustion, meant that he was in dire need of an outlet. Where he was once highly composed in interviews, he now found himself a practical livewire of excess energy that exited his body through fidgeting fingers and shaking legs.

The start of the fourth week of tour found them in Edinburgh. Thankfully, they had two days of performances here, and that meant a slight reprieve from their new, exhausting normal.

Unfortunately, that also meant that the morning of their second day in Edinburgh was completely taken up by their biggest press event yet. BBC Sport was going to be occupied with the European Rugby Finals during their stint in London, so they had decided to catch them on tour instead.

The entire morning was blocked off, eliminating any possibility of a lie in, or better yet, an active morning in bed. Draco was in a particularly foul mood as he and Hermione dressed in their official Rock the Rink rehearsal gear prior to the interview. He half expected Hermione to nudge him to cheer up, but she seemed on edge as well. Much like him, she had recently taken to shaking her leg when seated. Or chewing her lip.

Looking at her lips was the last thing he needed.

Her nerves fed into his as they made their way to Murrayfield Ice Rink for the second day in a row. Beside him in the cab, his leg began to shake. She placed a soft hand on his thigh as an act of comfort, and it felt nice, it truly did.

The only problem was that Draco hadn't had time for an extra long shower this morning. His leg shook harder.

"Right, you two. Over to your left is the interview set-up. The Weasleys are just finishing." One of the Rock the Rink managers pressed his palms into their backs and led them to a waiting area just beyond the grey drapes acting as a background for the interviews.

Draco picked at the pastry Hermione offered him from the service table.

A glance in her direction revealed she was chewing her lip.

"Ah! Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger. Just the two I wanted to see!" A turn of his head revealed a blond man with the whitest teeth he had ever seen. The man thrust his hand out for each of them to shake, and when Draco offered his own hand tentatively, it was squeezed half to death.

"Such a pleasure, such a pleasure. The UK's top ice dancers. That'll make such a great headlining piece for the interview. But of course, we'll need to spice it up a bit if we want the viewers to really grab hold of the story."

Draco blinked as he tried to process the man's words. Spice it up…? He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. And you are…?"

The man's smile faded only for a moment before brightening again almost instantly. "Gilderoy Lockhart. Top producer at BBC sport. Former ICC cricketer of the year and five time winner of _Modern Athlete_ 's Most-Charming-Smile-Award. Author of four best-selling books about my breaking world records."

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes. There was definitely something off about this man, but Draco wasn't about to go arguing with the producer in charge of these interviews. A glance at Hermione revealed she was in the same camp.

"Right." He pursed his lips and nodded. "Mr. Lockhart. Yes. You want to spice up our interview?"

The man's smile widened considerably and he placed an arm around his shoulder. Draco fought the urge to shake it off.

"Draco, Draco, Draco. Do you know how I sold a million copies of my books?"

"No, sir. How did you?"

" _Sex_ , my boy."

Draco choked on his own spit. Beside him, Hermione was facing a similar conundrum with the bite of pastry in her mouth.

He coughed, bringing his fist up to his mouth. "Uh, sex, sir?"

"Sex sells, Draco." Gilderoy Lockhart clapped him on the back. "I knew that tales about the minutiae of breaking world records aren't always page-turners. So I simply dusted some of my duller stories lightly with lewd details of my personal life. Worked like a charm. Those books flew off the shelves."

Draco made a mental note to never even look up a title written by Gilderoy Lockhart.

Hermione seemed to have cleared the pastry out of her throat, because she managed to speak first. "What did you have in mind, Mr. Lockhart?"

"I'm so glad you asked." The man clapped both of them on the back. "You see, your particular audience loves your skating, of course. The two of you are so talented. Remarkable, really. But what people really want to know is about what goes on behind the scenes. In all those closed practices."

Hermione extricated herself from Lockhart's touch. "Well I hate to burst your bubble, sir, but all we do in closed practices is just that. Practise. For hours on end."

Draco half expected to see the man half deflate again, but instead, the man's smile simply grew wider, and, if possible, brighter.

"Tut, tut. That just won't do, you two. The public needs a good story and that's exactly what we'll give them." Lockhart clapped his hands together as if he'd just come up with a brilliant idea. "When it's your turn up there, I want you to play up your relationship. Really get your fans worked up about the idea of a possible romance."

Hermione's eyes went impossibly wide as Draco's heart picked up its tempo. "A romance?"

"Yes, my dear girl. A romance. Oh, I can picture it now! No one will be able to stop talking about the two of you! Love blossoming on the ice. Destined from a young age to be together! It'll be the romance of the decade." Lockhart paused, concern darting across his features for half a moment. "Well… perhaps not bigger than the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, of course. But the country'll be itching for more lovebirds to admire once the wedding is done. And your story is just the ticket!"

Lockhart sighed and wiped a tear from his eye. "I just can't believe how brilliant I am, sometimes." He seemed to be saying this mostly to himself.

Before he or Hermione had the chance to protest or propose an alternative to this absurd plan, they were being called toward the grey drapes, where three different cameras were pointing.

"What are we going to do?" Hermione hissed behind her hand, which she held up to his ear. "This plan is absurd."

Draco shot Lockhart a glance over Hermione's shoulder. The man was talking animatedly to the camera crew, likely explaining his vision to a very confused audience.

"I mean… it's not entirely untrue, what he said." He sat down on the provided loveseat. Hermione joined him, crossing her ankles.

"What? That sex sells? Of course I know that."

Draco sighed. "I mean… we want this interview to go well. And we could always use more public support. What if we… I dunno… played it up a bit?"

Hermione's brows shot up and Draco pressed on before she could interject.

"Not to the extent Lockhart suggested, obviously. Nothing… erm… too _honest_." He felt his cheeks go scarlet. "Just enough to feed the rumours. Keep it vague but flirtatious."

"Vague… but flirtatious?"

"Yeah. I can keep a hand on your knee. You could kiss my cheek or something. Lots of… I dunno… smiling?"

"Do you want me to look at you like you're filet mignon?"

Draco blinked. Filet mignon? With a jolt, he recalled Remus Lupin's words. Those words had essentially changed his life. Those words had inspired Hermione to ask him for the one thing he most desperately wanted now. He felt himself flush around the ears. "Oh. Er… yes. I think that's a good idea."

"Okay then." Hermione straightened her back and schooled her expression. "Let's do this. Give the people what they want."

By the time the cameras were recording, Hermione's palm had settled on his knee. Her thumb traced faint circles there as the reporter asked them a few mundane questions about their training regimen.

This contact was innocent enough. They'd spent years placing hands on knees during interviews.

What wasn't so innocent was the way Hermione's hand began to travel.

The movement was slow. So slow that Draco had no idea whether the camera would pick up the movement. If their legs were even in frame. But just because it might be undetectable to the cameras did not mean it was undetectable to Draco.

By the time he could feel Hermione's fingers pressing into his thigh, they were well into their discussion of this past season's successes and shortcomings.

"But of course we were disappointed when Vancouver didn't work out." Hermione spoke casually, as though her hand wasn't inches away from his twitching cock. "But we grow and improve with each season we skate, and we're hoping that Sochi will be our time for triumph."

Draco nodded, inserting a quick, "Yes, by the time we get to the Olympics, we'll be fully ready to go for gold."

"And what about your Free Dance from this past year?" The interviewer leaned forward, his eyebrows raising. "You gained a lot of attention for your complicated and, if I may say so, _steamy_ routine."

It was as though Lockhart's vision for the interview was being handed to him on a silver platter. Or rather, had been predetermined.

Still, they played along. With Hermione's hand resting firmly on his upper thigh, Draco was determined to play the role of doting partner with equal fervor. He took advantage of Hermione's proximity to reach his arm around her body and drape it over her shoulders, brushing his own fingers along her upper arm in small circles.

It gave him a little jolt of satisfaction when she shivered.

Draco smirked at the interviewer. "Well, any steam you may see is the result of months of practice to make the entire routine look natural. Plus—" He turned his head slightly and offered Hermione an affectionate smile. "It helps to have as good of a relationship with your partner as I do with Hermione."

From behind the camera, Lockhart was leering.

The interviewer merely smiled. "Can you care to elaborate? I mean, it's clear the two of you are close, judging by how comfortable you are touching each other." He gestured to Hermione's hand, and Draco watched as one of the cameras focused on his hand on Hermione's shoulder.

He was just grateful they hadn't chosen to pan over to Hermione's hand. It was shockingly close to his groin, which was threatening to grow into a bulge at any moment.

Thankfully, Hermione answered. Maybe she just had good intuition, and maybe she could feel movement close to her hand. "Well, you kind of have to be comfortable with touch when you do ice dancing. My safety depends on trusting Draco's touch."

"Then the two of you must have an incredibly close relationship."

Draco answered this time. "We do. It's so hard to describe how important Hermione is to me. What kind of relationship we have. People try and put a label on it, but really, there's not a good one that fits."

"What about brother and sister? You've put that label on it in the past."

Draco had to hold back a laugh. "I have, haven't I? Well, that's not quite how I'd describe our relationship. Would you, Hermione?" He raised one eyebrow ever so slightly as he turned to his partner.

She shook her head. "No, I wouldn't think so."

His mind's eye was suddenly filled with visions of Hermione spread before him like a succulent feast. Draco squirmed a little on the loveseat. It had been far too long since he'd seen her like that, and he was practically aching for it by now.

No, she was definitely not like a sister.

The interviewer seemed intrigued by their answer, so he pressed further. "I know there has been speculation online that the two of you have a romantic connection of some sort. Can you confirm or deny these rumours?"

This was the moment of truth. The golden opportunity to make their fans lose their minds.

"All I can say is that Hermione and I are… very close." Draco's hand moved to her waist and gave a little tug, encouraging her to look up at him. "Isn't that right?"

Draco prayed that she would follow his cues and play along.

He shot her the most flirtatious smirk he could manage and even threw in a wink for good measure.

Normally, Hermione might laugh it off or roll her eyes. That was their dynamic. They flirted, yes. But neither of them really took it for anything. The sexual part of their relationship was contained only to the bed. And occasionally a couch.

Draco expected her to laugh a bit. Maybe shake her head.

What he did not expect was for her to blush.

The colour spread out from the apples of her cheeks, inching across her face until the tips of her ears had turned a deep fuschia.

Watching her blush like this only made more memories flash in Draco's mind. He recalled the way her chest would also flush when she was aroused. How her nipples perked up as the surrounding skin grew heated.

It had been so long since he'd taken one of those nipples into his mouth and sucked. So long since he'd taken any part of her into his mouth. Her soft lips… her sweet cunt…

Draco suddenly found his own cheeks growing heated.

"Yes." Hermione confirmed his answer, her voice a little more breathless than normal. "We are definitely very close. How could we not be? Draco knows more about me than anyone."

It was subtle, but as Hermione answered, she shifted in the loveseat, uncrossing and crossing her ankles again. To the casual onlooker, her action might seem to be just that—adjusting to get more comfortable. But Draco knew better.

He knew that look in her eye—the one when her pupils dilated with lust.

He knew that scent, too. _Her_ scent. For the briefest moment before her ankles were crossed once more, the smell of her arousal drifted past his nose.

She hadn't been trying to get more comfortable. Not at all.

She was chasing pleasure in what little ways she could right now. Chasing friction.

Draco fought the urge to grab Hermione by the wrist and drag her somewhere— _anywhere_ without cameras. He'd show her the meaning of friction then.

The interviewer asked a handful of other questions. Something about their toughest lift. Then another question about their sponsorships. Draco gave a generic answer about enjoying partnerships. After all, he couldn't rightly say that the only reason he worked with so many brands was because he cut himself off financially from his abusive father.

He was incredibly thankful when one of the Rock the Rink managers popped her head into the frame to interrupt.

"That's all the time you get." She tapped her clipboard with a pen. "We've got to let these two go get ready for today's matinee performance."

Before Draco had time to hear Lockhart plead with the manager for just one more question, he took Hermione by the hand and led her backstage to the same changing area they had used the day before.

The feeling of Hermione's fingers laced with his left him electrified, and with each step he took toward their destination, he could feel the voltage pulsing through him with increasing intensity. By the time the room came into view, Draco's whole body was a livewire.

Thank God the changing room at this venue came with a door.

A door that locked.

The moment they were inside with the little knob turned vertically, Draco pressed Hermione into the door and slanted his lips over hers. She welcomed him with an open-mouth kiss, beckoning him in with the slide of her tongue over his bottom lip and the pull of her hands on his jacket.

Yes. This was exactly what he needed. Judging by the way Hermione's fingers were practically scratching at his clothes and the feel of her smiling against his mouth, she needed it too.

"Too damn long," he mumbled, kissing the slender column of her throat. "It's been too damn long since I've been able to do this. And I need you, Hermione. I _need_ you. "

Draco pushed Hermione's zip-up off her shoulders and began nipping at the skin there. Her mouth was now on level with his ear, and the light mewls escaping her lips were sending shockwaves down his spine and right to his cock.

He pressed her even closer as his mouth trailed down the sharp angle of her collarbone on its way to the gentle slopes of her breasts. All the while, Hermione continued to cling to him, her breath coming in pants now. And when Draco pushed her tank top down and nuzzled the soft flesh there, her hips began to buck against the growing bulge in his trousers.

He suddenly felt overheated, feverish and struck by lust for the woman before him.

He had to feel her. Have her. Be with her. _Now._

Draco's palms found her breasts, his fingers tweaking at her rosy nipples. His mouth returned to hers with fervor and he sucked greedily on her lower lip before biting gently there. Hermione's hands, meanwhile, had traveled down and were making quick work of his elastic waistband.

It was frantic and all-consuming. A far cry from their usual trysts. But Draco didn't care. He actually liked the intensity of it all. Hermione was going to set him ablaze and he would happily die amongst the flames.

She had just gotten his trousers around his knees and had brushed his cock through his boxer briefs when a knock sounded from behind them, sending vibrations through the door.

"Are you two getting changed in there?" It was one of their tour managers. Draco pulled back from Hermione's lips and glared at the solid wood behind her. "You're scheduled for make-up in five minutes. Don't forget and please don't be late. There's already a queue outside and the show opens in exactly one hour."

Hermione, being the responsible one, spoke up for the both of them. "Yes. Of course. We'll head over to make-up in just a minute."

"Great. I'll see you two just off the ice then."

Draco heard faint footsteps retreating down the corridor to the other dressing rooms before he dared make a sound.

"Looks like we'll have to save this for a little later." Hermione sighed and pulled his trousers back up past his erection, which was still standing at full attention. Draco groaned as her gaze lingered there. He was tempted to just forget about the matinee and stay behind these locked doors all afternoon. It would be easy. They just… wouldn't answer the door. Who knows how many times he could make Hermione come before they found a master key? Draco wished he could find out.

But Hermione had already whisked around him to the rack of costumes hanging in the back of their little room. She plucked out the first of five costumes for the show and shed her tank top and trousers in the most perfunctory motions possible. Draco watched, helpless as Hermione's breasts appeared, pebbling in the cool air of the rink and then disappeared just as quickly behind the sky blue sequined fabric of her opening costume.

"Do we have to?" he whined, crossing the room to pull his own sky blue shirt from the rack and eyeing it with disdain. "Can't we just… not go to this show? We performed yesterday. Signed autographs. Listened to fans scream. They could skip our dances. It won't be a big deal."

Hermione shook her head as she smoothed her skirt over bits of her he'd very much like to be uncovered instead.

"Come on, Draco. There'll be time." Hermione gave him a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder. "Later. It's a matinee, so we have all evening." The twitch of her lips told him that she might be imagining the same possibilities as him.

"All evening, huh?" He shucked his plain t-shirt over his head and grabbed the sparkly blue one. "Can I hold you to that?"

He watched as Hermione's eyes trailed down his chest. The way her throat bobbed didn't do anything to calm his cock, which was still semi-hard in his trousers. It wasn't until she turned around to adjust her dress that Draco was able to pull himself together enough to get his own costume on.

The next hour proceeded at the pace of a sloth. He spent his time in make-up trying not to think about Hermione and all of the lecherous things he would love to be doing to her. This task was made difficult by the fact that Hermione's make-up artist had her tilt her head back just enough that Draco was forced to stare at the column of her throat where he had just planted kisses.

If only he could tell the make-up artist who was currently touching up his face to shove it.

Unfortunately, that would likely be a breach of contract or something.

So Draco sat. And then he followed behind Hermione as they headed to group warm-up.

He felt his whole body clench as he watched her arse bounce just so.

This was torture.

And not the sweet kind.

The rumble of the crowd assembling in the rink brought some semblance back to his mind, and he forced himself to think only of performing. Think of the loyal fans waiting to watch them skate. The kids who had pestered their parents to get tickets to see their heroes. Because that was, apparently, what they were to some.

That thought was enough to center himself, at least for now.

He kept those fans in his mind as he waited backstage for the show to begin. The now-familiar introductory video for the tour played, and Draco did his usual seven jumps to get his nerves out.

That was who he was skating for today.

He _always_ skated for Hermione, but doing that right now might result in some embarrassing results on the ice.

Skaters began entering the rink one or two at a time. He and Hermione, being the pair with the greatest accolades, entered last. The tumult of the crowd filled him as they skated through the black curtain at the far end of the rink and into the spotlight. The two of them skated hand-in-hand, waving at their fans as they took their position for the opening number.

All through _Airplanes_ , Draco kept his mind focused on the skate. It was easy to keep his thoughts from wandering when other people were out on the ice with them.

The same couldn't be said ten minutes later, when they stood with Hermione's back pressed into his chest, center ice, for their _All that Jazz_ routine.

It was as though the heated kiss from earlier had primed him to react to her body. From the moment the music started, all thoughts of screaming fans or kids who looked up to him fell away. All he could see and feel was Hermione.

Hermione, in that tiny black thing that could _hardly_ be considered a dress.

Hermione, who was running her hands all over him.

Hermione, whose flirtatious gaze smouldered just enough that he couldn't tell if she was acting or not.

She'd looked at him like this more times than he could count. Like he was filet mignon. Like she wanted to take a bite.

All those other times, Draco had kept it together because he knew it was an act. For entertainment purposes only. She gazed at him with arousal in her eyes because that was what they were told to do in order to win.

But somehow, this time felt different.

The way she was looking at him now, her eyes fixed on his, felt more like an invitation. He wasn't sure exactly what it was that informed her intentions. Perhaps it was the flush in her cheeks. Or the way her fingertips lingered on his biceps just a bit longer than usual.

By the time they reached the fast and frenetic final stretch of the song, Draco was practically in a frenzy. He held her firm as they performed the final lift—a complicated one that required firm footwork on his part as he flipped Hermione around his own torso before her legs traveled around his head.

His hands gripped her waist as they held the position for half a second. His nose was practically buried between her legs, and that time was just long enough to smell it.

_Her arousal._

Fuck.

He needed to get off the ice the moment they finished bows.

The rest of the dance passed in a frenzy of fast footwork and deep dips. All the while, the audience roared with approval. Some even wolf whistled as he pulled Hermione close for their final spin.

When the last note rang out and Draco struck his final pose with Hermione in his arms, it was almost as though a countdown clock began in his head.

Ten. Take Hermione's hand.

Nine. Bow.

Eight. Wave at the crowd.

Seven. Exit out of the black curtains.

Six. Tighten hold on Hermione's hand.

Five. Confirm that it's twenty-five minutes until they're needed on the ice again.

Four. Remove their skates.

Three. Run back to their dressing room, heart pounding.

Two. Close the door.

One. Lock it.

Draco almost lunged for Hermione the moment the lock clicked, but Hermione held out a hand.

"Lipstick," she said simply, and reached for her make-up wipes. "Can't get it on you."

"Fuck the lipstick. Clean me off after." He reached for her hand and pulled her flush against his chest. When she didn't protest, he crashed his lips into hers.

It was as though the blaze that had seared through him earlier returned with a vengeance. All at once, he was a man possessed. His hands held Hermione's jaw as he worked his lips over hers, nipping and sucking until he was sure his entire lower face had turned red from her lipstick.

Good. Let everyone know what they had been doing. That she was his. That she had _always_ been his.

Hermione bit down gently on his lower lip, and Draco growled in response.

" _Please."_ Her sweet voice was begging, and he was more than happy to oblige.

Draco trailed his hands down her neck and shoulders, all the way to her wrists. He gripped her there and led her to one of the counters that lined their dressing room. The lovely flush in her cheeks had returned, and by the time he lifted her onto one of the mirror-backed counters, it had spread all across her neck and chest.

He wanted to kiss her blush and soak up all the warmth she had to offer, but another, even warmer part of her called to him.

Draco lowered himself onto his knees.

"Draco, no. It's okay." Hermione tugged at his shoulder, panic edging into her voice. "We… we don't have time."

He just smirked and lowered her trunks before reaching for the waistband on her pantyhose instead. Hermione lifted her hips despite her protests, and as he leaned in, he heard her breath hitch with anticipation.

Draco pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee. "We'll make time."

The pantyhose proved a little harder to remove than anticipated, and as he lowered them around the swell of her arse, a run appeared on her thigh.

"Do you have another pair?" he grunted, gaze flickering up to Hermione's face. She blinked through furrowed eyebrows, but nodded.

"Good."

Rearranging his grip on the flimsy fabric, Draco ripped the garment wide open, granting him access to the treasure beneath.

Hermione had the audacity to gasp, but her protests were silenced moments later, when Draco buried his face against her centre. He'd had his face here only a few minutes ago, but that had been out on the ice in front of thousands of people. _This_ was far more intimate, and his intentions were far from professional.

He pressed his lips against the thin strip of fabric between her legs. Above him, Hermione whimpered.

Draco smirked right into her cunt.

His fingers pressed against her and he planted kissing along her inner thigh, drawing small sighs from above. When he pushed the thong she wore for performances aside and began to trace the soft, glistening flesh there with his fingers, her thighs began to tremble, and almost immediately clenched around his head.

" _Oh God…"_ Her voice shook just like her legs as he slid her thong down and traded his fingers for his mouth, licking a stripe right up the middle of her slit before settling on her clit. Hermione liked direct pressure on it, but not for long, so he used his fingers to put pressure on her pubic bone while he feasted on her, on and off.

When her legs began to shake and her hips began to move of their own accord, Draco knew she was close. It was then that his fingers abandoned the cause so he could focus solely on working his tongue just right.

She surrounded him entirely, and he breathed in her heady scent.

He would stay like this forever, if she let him.

Hermione had begun to moan in earnest now, and she muffled the sound by biting into her wrist. Draco just pushed on, keeping his tongue swirling over her clit with determination. His fingers joined in once more as well, two of them plunging inside her over and over. He had to get her off with time to spare to change clothes for their next act.

If he could do that, he'd be satisfied and able to focus again.

Hermione's whole body was undulating beneath his ministrations now, seeking friction on instinct. She'd been seeking it earlier, in their interview, and Draco was going to deliver.

He sucked on her clit. Hard.

Above him, Hermione nearly screamed. She began to pulse around his fingers, and Draco knew he had achieved his goal.

When he pulled his face back from her centre, he gazed up at Hermione's face. Her jaw was slack, eyes barely open, and she seemed to almost be floating, judging from the way all her muscles had gone limp.

Satisfied, he climbed to his feet and dusted off his knees before reaching for his next costume.

This, it seemed, brought Hermione back to reality.

"What are you doing?" she pressed, furrowed eyebrows returning.

Draco returned the expression. "Getting dressed. We've got to be ready to get on the ice in…" He checked the clock on the wall. "...twenty minutes."

Hermione goggled at him for a moment before her eyes dropped to the front of his trousers. "Don't tell me you're going to try to skate with _that_."

Draco didn't need to look down to know that his cock was so hard that it had created a massive tent that could likely be seen, even from the highest bleachers.

He shrugged. "I'll do some breathing exercises, maybe—Hermione?"

As he tried to reason his erection away, Hermione stepped toward him and fiddled with his belt buckle. There was a hint of mischief in her eyes.

"Why don't you leave the responsibility to me? Besides—" Draco felt his trousers and boxer briefs drop past his thighs as Hermione eased them down. She then undid the side zipper to her skimpy black flapper costume and allowed the fabric to pool at her feet, leaving her completely exposed. "—I can think of far better uses for this beautiful cock of yours."

He twitched in the cool air.

Twenty minutes was plenty of time. Way more than enough.

"So what are you going to do about it, Draco Malfoy?"

She was going to set him ablaze once more, and there was no doubt in his mind that he would drag her down into the inferno with him.

He was back on her the next second, kissing her soft lips, his whole body flush against hers. The sensitive tip of his cock brushed against her stomach and he hissed. They weren't quite where they needed to be. Draco needed to find a way inside Hermione. He'd burn from the inside out if he didn't.

Walking her backwards, Draco pressed Hermione's back into a stretch of wall between the door and the counter. The moment she couldn't move back any farther, his hands reached down to her thighs and encouraged her to wrap them around his waist. She picked up on his cue almost immediately, and when he felt her heels hook behind his arse, he looked down just in time to see his cock line up just outside her slick entrance.

Without hesitation, his hips snapped forward. It was instant pleasure, hot and tight and wet. Whereas he normally took his time, savouring the feel of being inside Hermione, right now, there was quite literally not the time.

He pulled back and pushed in again. This time, his head tipped back and his mouth fell open at the sensation. Hermione, too, seemed to feel pleasure, as her eyelids fluttered closed.

" _Aah, Draco."_ Her words came out as breathy mewls. Draco took this as encouragement and began to thrust in earnest.

As he sank into her again and again, he leaned his forehead against hers. From this angle, he could feel her breathy pants against his cheek and see her breasts bouncing with each thrust. He could even see himself disappearing again and again inside her sweet cunt.

It was the most marvelous sight Draco had ever seen.

Why hadn't they had wall sex before? Why weren't they _exclusively_ having wall sex?

Also… _Fuck._ Why hadn't he gotten himself off in the shower this morning?

At this rate, he wasn't going to last. Not when he hadn't been inside Hermione in over three weeks.

Hermione's legs tightened around his waist, and he made his pace punishing. So much so that his grip on her thighs loosened a bit too much and she slid down the wall a little more than an inch. When he adjusted that grip slightly and lifted her, the angle of his thrusts changed, and Hermione gave a sharp moan.

"Like that?" Draco gave that angle another try.

"God. Yes. _Please,_ Draco. I'll get there again if you keep at it."

He didn't need to be told twice.

Draco plunged into Hermione with such fervor that he could feel his entire body start to shake. The pressure inside of his lower abdomen was building up now, careening toward the point of no return. Before he could fall over the edge, he felt Hermione's walls flutter around him, threatening to milk a climax from his cock. He was close, and he captured Hermione's lips with his own again. He wanted to swallow each and every noise she made and keep them only for himself.

It wasn't until Hermione's whines began to subside that his own orgasm overtook him, shooting straight up his spine as he buried his cock one final time into her core. He twitched inside her as he felt his come cling to her walls.

With a groan of relief, he pressed his forehead into her shoulder, planting lazy kisses into the salty skin of her neck.

"How long?" he murmured, trying not to think about having to finish the show now.

"Thirteen minutes." Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck as he pulled out of her and set her back on her feet.

Draco watched with greedy eyes as his come dripped down her thighs. "Think Gilderoy Lockhart suspects that this is what we get up to backstage?"

Hermione laughed and made a face. "God, I hope not."

The two changed into their third costumes of the night—a plain white collared shirt and black trousers for Draco, and a veritable princess dress for Hermione. Her look was completed by long pink ribbons in her hair, which she wore half-up. The concept for this next dance was sweet, innocent love—something for the young and young at heart in the audience to enjoy.

Draco watched as she fiddled with her curls, his eye half on the clock.

"Can you help me with this?" she asked when they only had five minutes left. "I can't quite get the ribbon to stay in. It just needs a simple bow."

"Sure. Of course." Draco pushed himself off the counter and grasped the ribbon Hermione was holding out to him. It was such a delicate thing to place in her hair. He stared at it for a moment before taking the bit of her hair that was already in the elastic and looping the ribbon around it. "There," he said after a bit of fiddling. "A beautiful bow on a beautiful woman."

The look Hermione gave him in the mirror as he spoke was one he wasn't sure he had seen before. She was blushing, but it couldn't be with arousal.

Draco felt his stomach flip and his heart skip a beat. He felt the urge to grin from ear to ear.

So he did.

When Hermione grinned back, he found her so enchanting that he couldn't breathe.

That was new.

While his body and mind were still playing catch-up, Hermione laced her fingers through his and unlocked the door.

"Come on. We'd better get a move on. Don't want the managers to yell at us."

Draco nodded, still unsure of his own tongue.

As Hermione led him down the corridor, back to the ice, it suddenly occurred to him that what he felt for her could be far beyond anything he had ever thought. Because he didn't just want to kiss Hermione. Have sex with her.

Those things felt beyond incredible, it was true.

He also wanted to hold her after. To keep holding her. To be her first thought when she woke up and the last thought before she fell asleep.

He wanted to be there for her, always.

He wanted to make her blush like that again and again.

And though he didn't know exactly what that meant, he knew one thing for sure.

Somehow, those thoughts could change everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco is in such deep shit. They both are. And I'm so delighted. 
> 
> I loved writing Lockhart into this story. I was cracking up the entire time I wrote that bit. 
> 
> As for the smut... I think it's some of my favorite among the stuff I've written. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this 11k chapter!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy spikes during the 2012 London Olympic Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last chapter, amirite? 
> 
> This chapter centers around the 2012 London Olympics. I'm so pleased to inform you that I have written over 38K words of Subtle Perfection during NaNo so far. Keep your fingers crossed I make it to 50K. 
> 
> Major thanks go Graceful Lioness as always.

**July 2012**

One of the better parts of winning multiple world titles was that it came with invitations to some of the most exclusive events in Great Britain.

Fashion shows? Invited.

Movie premieres? Invited.

Dinners with the Prime Minister? Also invited.

Draco enjoyed fame. He did. The limelight was where he truly belonged.

But what he enjoyed even more was the freedom that fame granted him. Because with freedom also came _endorsements._

And endorsements meant not having to rely on his jackass of a father any longer.

In the last year he'd done advertisements for an athletic gear company, sports drinks, and oddly enough, a brand of body wash. All that money was more than enough to cover his and Hermione's training.

Hermione had her own endorsements, and those covered their rent and food expenses. She worked with him for all the campaigns related to athletics, but she was working with a company that sold cosmetics, another that sold healthy, make-at-home smoothies, and yet _another_ company that sold many lines of hair care products.

The last endorsement brought her to tears laughing when she had gotten an email with the proposal.

" _My_ hair?" She had giggled from their couch, her feet propped up on his knees and a glass of white wine in her hand. "They want _my_ hair to endorse their product?"

Draco took a sip of his old fashioned and settled deeper into the cushions. "I dunno. I like your hair."

He didn't have to look over at her to know that Hermione furrowed her brow in disbelief. In truth, Draco was fairly certain he was one of the only people who knew what Hermione looked like with her hair down.

That was… until she filmed a national spot for television. Then everyone saw her with her chestnut curls falling across her shoulders. They had watched the commercial together on this very couch a few months back. Hermione spent the whole time covering her eyes and cringing, but he couldn't he couldn't help but stare.

Whoever had styled her had done their job well. It was shiny and not a single curl was out of place. It was… perfect. Exactly what the brand had wanted.

And while she was beyond beautiful with all that makeup and hair product, Draco found he preferred her curls wild, spread against the soft fabric of her pillow.

Not that he would say anything to her about that now. It wouldn't be appropriate, what with having a girlfriend and all.

He'd met Astoria at the gym nearly eight months ago. They both worked out early in the morning, and for several days in a row, she was always one step ahead of him. It felt as though he was following her from machine to machine as he worked different muscle groups. After a while, it became a flirtatious game. He would clean off one machine and proceed to the next, only to find her waiting for him with a smirk and a wink.

This went on for well over a week until he found a flowery scented card sitting on top of the seat of the leg press with her phone number written in curly script.

Three dates later, and Astoria Greengrass was his girlfriend.

He'd hemmed and hawed about making it official for fear of what Hermione would think, but once or twice he glanced at her phone and noticed that she'd been texting Weasley a fair amount recently. Suddenly he didn't feel so guilty about Astoria.

Hermione seemed happy for them. And she was more than courteous about ending the more intimate part of their relationship. She always excused herself to give them privacy when he brought Astoria over.

The initial conversation had been awkward, to say the least. He was two dates in, and he already knew that he'd like to go on more. Hermione had been leaning into his touch as they watched a Christmas movie when he blurted out his intentions to date Astoria. She'd frozen beside him almost immediately.

For some reason, Draco couldn't shake the memory of Hermione withdrawing the hand that sat on his knee as though she had been burned, her eyes shining with some emotion he couldn't quite place.

"Of course. Oh gosh, Draco. I'm so sorry. I'm—oh, I'm so sorry." She scooted away from him on the couch, putting some distance between them. "So we—I won't… anymore." Hermione tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear and stared at her toes.

Draco cleared his throat. "Er, yes. That's probably… probably for the best."

"Good. Okay."

"Yeah. Good."

They hadn't discussed their past sex life at all after that. Whenever Draco brought Astoria home—and he insisted they go to her place as often as was feasible—he did his best to keep them both quiet and discreet, taking extra care to lock doors and not cry out. He felt like he was back in the Sheffield dormitory, sneaking around like some teenager.

But not in a good way.

He'd grown so used to the unabashedly loud sex he had with Hermione that he found the quiet to be distracting, almost.

Draco shook himself whenever he started down that rabbit hole. He was dating Astoria now. He wasn't supposed to be thinking about Hermione in that way.

Especially not when Astoria was beautiful and sexy in her own right. She was fun. Vivacious. Sarcastic as hell and exactly his type.

Thankfully, she was understanding as well.

"It's fine, Draco," she assured him as they jogged together through the local park. "You're expected to attend the gala with Hermione. It's a public function and you have an image to uphold."

He'd received a phone call that morning from one of the offices of the Commission for the London Olympics, inviting the two of them to attend the pre-Olympic gala. After a chat with Snape, it was clear that the two of them were not to bring any guests.

"Think of your image," Snape had warned him when he tried to bring up Astoria and how he'd like to have her on his arm. "The whole country thinks you and Hermione have a uniquely close relationship—"

"Well, we do."

"—and it would ruin that image if you showed up with an actual girlfriend."

Draco felt resentment rise in his chest in the moment, but on the day of the actual event, he made a mental note to thank Snape.

From the moment he and Hermione stepped into the ballroom, all he wanted to do was clutch his best friend to his side. Everyone of importance was in this room. Actors and athletes and politicians were all in this room. _The Queen_ was in this room.

As were his parents. Somewhere.

He was used to the spotlight, yes. He even loved it. But this… This was on a whole other level.

The two of them stood stock still just inside the double doors and soaked in the scene before them. The room was packed with people of importance, and everyone was dressed to the nines in tuxedos and cocktail dresses or gowns.

In one corner, they spotted Rowan Atkinson chatting with Daniel Craig, In another, Graham Norton carrying on an animated conversation with the PM, himself.

His father, discussing something with the head of the Olympic Committee.

Had Astoria actually been on his arm, his nerves might have been uncontrollable. He'd have wanted to make a good impression and with her personality, there was no doubt that she'd want to flit around to every group in the room if possible. With Astoria, he'd have to introduce her to everyone and find a way to speak in front of all these people. And he hadn't even introduced her to his parents. They had no idea he was dating at all.

But with Hermione...

Everyone already knew who the pair of them were. It put him at ease to know that was one component of the night he wouldn't have to worry about. And then there was the fact that they fit together like a well-broken-in pair of skates.

Hermione must have sensed his discomfort, because two seconds after he stiffened, she tightened the grip on his arm and led him over to a nearby standing table.

"Are you okay? I saw—"

Draco clenched his teeth. "Yeah. I know."

"We'll just do our best to avoid him." Hermione covered his hand with hers and patted it. "It'll be all right. Let's just focus on mingling with someone else. Any strategy you want to go for tonight?"

The two of them cast their eyes around at the various pockets of celebrities around the room. There were groups of athletes, chatting away. Draco felt his stomach swoop when he spotted none other than former Olympic medalists Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean deep in conversation with—

"Neil Gaiman!" Hermione squeaked, her face going bright red. "Oh! I don't _believe_ it!"

Draco cleared his throat. "Right. I suppose that's where we'll start." Before Hermione could protest, he began trekking them across the ballroom toward their conversing heroes.

Two hours into the event, Draco was more than ready to call it a night and head home. He and Hermione had plans to order a pizza and fall asleep while watching reruns of _Friends_. As much as he had enjoyed eyeing The Queen from a distance and exchanging terse words with the top French Ice Dancing contenders, Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies, he would have much preferred to call a cab so he could take off his shoes and lose the smile that had been plastered on is face all night.

He had also spent the entire night trying to ignore his parents completely. They were making the rounds, much as he was, and he'd felt them growing and closer and closer every time he looked over his shoulder. It was clear that they wanted to speak with him. It had been months since their last conversation, and he preferred to keep it that way. He had no interest in a confrontation, especially not at an event as public as this.

"Are we planning on getting out of here any time soon?" he murmured to Hermione behind his glass of champagne. They'd just excused themselves from an increasingly-maudlin, drunken reminiscence about the 1984 Winter Olympic Games and were recovering in a quiet corner.

"I should hope so," she replied, shooting a glance behind him. "I'm just going to head over to the loo and then we can think about making our way toward the exit. Maybe if we back away slowly, no one will notice."

Draco chuckled slightly as Hermione made her way down the back hallway where the restrooms were located. Perhaps, if he was lucky, no one would come over to him while she was away.

As it turned out, luck was not on his side.

Not even thirty seconds after Hermione left his side, a plump gentleman who reminded Draco of a walrus sidled over with a grin and a wine-induced blush on his cheeks.

"Ah! You must be Draco Malfoy."

Draco squared his shoulders and plastered a smile on his face. "Yes, sir. I am."

The man in question let out a belch that he unsuccessfully tried to dampen behind his fist. "Horace Slughorn." He then extended his hand—the same one—for a shake.

Draco fought the urge to make a face and recoil and shook the hand anyway. "Ah, yes. I've heard of you, sir."

"You have?"

"Of course." Draco inclined his head. How could anyone not know who this man was? Regardless of how crude he may be, it was important to stay in his good graces. "You are the longest standing Olympic Commentator in Great Britain. I've been listening to you on air for years, sir."

This answer seemed to please Slughorn greatly. His smile widened as he called a waiter over to grab another glass of red wine. As he leaned back to drink deeply, Draco saw the familiar tones of Hermione's hair and shoulders. She'd clearly finished in the loo and had been making her way over to him.

His stomach dropped to his knees when he saw who had intercepted her.

None other than Lucius Malfoy. He towered over her, practically leering. Draco could see his lips moving, though there was no way to know what his father was saying to her.

Whatever it was, she had gone pale.

Draco opened his mouth to excuse himself, but as the words were forming on his tongue, Slughorn slung an arm over his shoulders and began a drunken ramble not unlike the one he had just escaped moments before.

"Did I ever tell you about the 1988 Olympics in Seoul? Because let me tell you, that's a story."

"No, you haven't, sir. We've just met. But I really must insist—"

"No _I_ insist, m'boy." The man shoved a sloshing glass of wine into Draco's hand. "Now, that particular winter was incredibly cold. Simply freezing. And Korea is far more mountainous than here, you know. I told the head of the Olympic Commission—you know who Albus Dumbledore is, I presume—"

Draco's eyes darted back over to where he had last spotted Hermione and Father, expecting the worst. His eyes went wide when he saw that Father was no longer there, and instead, a scrawny-looking bloke with dark, messy hair had taken his place. Relief flooded his body momentarily before he realised something that made his insides twist.

She was smiling at him. And laughing. Her eyes were doing that thing where they crinkled around the edges. Hermione… she didn't smile like that very often. Not at least in the last few years, she hadn't.

_Who was this man?_

"Now, as I was saying, the toilets over there weren't really made for someone like me with bad knees—" Slughorn tightened his grip around Draco's shoulders, bringing him back to his current, aggravating situation. "—but Albus insisted that it was important to have the cultural experience. Broaden our minds. Poppycock if you ask me. Keep in mind that it was also extremely cold. So cold that my—"

Draco groaned internally. If there was one thing he was grateful to his parents for, it was teaching him how to maintain social niceties, even when he wanted to scream. If he had his way, he'd extract himself from Slughorn's drunken grip and march right over to Hermione to take her away from the suspicious bloke chatting her up.

Not that he had any particular claim to Hermione. She could talk to whomever she pleased. He just felt… protective. After Viktor had broken her heart, he'd been there to pick up the pieces, but what about this time? This particular bloke didn't look quite as dodgy as her old physical therapist, but still.

Draco shook himself mentally as Slughorn continued to blubber on. Hermione was a beautiful, single young woman who was perfectly allowed to live her life. He didn't have to like it, but it was true. And besides, he had a girlfriend, meaning that he especially had no say in her affairs.

With a sigh, he turned his attention fully to Slughorn. Perhaps there was some use in paying attention to the old windbag. He did have quite a few connections, and Draco supposed it couldn't hurt to get a few names and numbers.

"So you're quite close to Dumbledore, then?" Draco braced himself for a barrage of drunken speech. He wasn't disappointed.

"Am I close to Dumbledore? Am _I_ close? Of course I am! We've been working together for practically a half-century."

As Slughorn rambled on about how they met back in school, Draco did his best to pay attention. He made sure to nod and smile and even raise his eyebrows on occasion. But every few minutes, he managed a glance back to the part of the room where Hermione was still talking to that messy-haired man.

By the time he finally managed to worm his way out of conversation with Slughorn, it really was getting very late. A fair percentage of the guests had left for the night, including The Queen and a fair few of the celebrities. Draco didn't have to push past anyone to make it over to Hermione. She and the bloke were sitting in chairs now. Hermione's shoes were hanging in her hands by the straps and the bloke had his bowtie undone at his neck.

"—can't believe you had to face that in the press. How did you not go crazy?"

The bloke shrugged. "I dunno. Just tried to ignore it, I guess. And—hello?" His head whipped around as Draco approached.

"Oh, Draco!" Hermione stood on her bare feet and tugged him by the elbow to sit next to her. "This is Harry Potter. He's competing in fencing next week."

Draco arched a brow and tried to appear cool as he took a seat. "Fencing? I took lessons when I was very young actually. I was in the fencing club at my primary school."

Potter grinned over at him, though the smile was a little wistful. "That sounds cool. I picked it up when I went to secondary school. I didn't have the, er, _opportunity_ to start earlier than that. I'm sure I'd be much better if I could have started earlier."

"Oh, stop being modest." Hermione waved her hand. "From what I hear, you're a contender for a medal."

"Where on earth did you hear that?"

"I read up on all the UK athletes competing this year."

"Wow. You're one to do your homework."

Draco cleared his throat in an attempt to break into the conversation. "Have you two been getting along then?"

"We have! In fact we've been talking for—" Hermione glanced at her watch and jumped. "My goodness! Is that the time already?" She looked around the ballroom as if realising for the first time just how empty it had become.

Potter stood and stretched his arms upward the best he could in his tuxedo jacket. "I should get back to the Olympic Village. The opening ceremony is tomorrow, and I can't be falling asleep during the Parade of Nations. But before I go—" He reached into his pocket and fished out his phone, all the while, his cheeks turning pink. "—can I get your number? I thought, maybe we could talk again. You could give me some more ideas."

Draco felt his stomach roil and his fists clench as Hermione pulled out her own phone and handed it over. The two tapped away on the screens for a moment, occasionally glancing up to smile at each other.

Draco thought he might be sick.

"Right, well. Thanks." Potter mussed up his hair and heaved a sigh. "Nice to meet you, Hermione. And you as well, Draco." With one final wave, he turned and made his way toward the double doors.

"Shall we?" Hermione tilted her head and motioned in the same direction. "It's getting late and we should get home. Besides, I don't think I'll last long once I put these shoes back on." She winced as if proving her point as she dangled the sparkly things in her hand.

By the time they made their way back to their flat, the clock was ticking dangerously close to midnight. Hermione ditched her heels the moment they stepped over the threshold and padded over to the kitchen barefoot. The hair she'd so carefully pinned up earlier in the evening now hung in slight disarray with stray curls cascading at random across her shoulders and down her back.

Draco had to remind himself as he watched her walk away that she was not his to have tonight. Or any night.

"What did you think of tonight?" she called as she rummaged around in the cabinets.

"What do you mean, what did I think?" Draco loosened his bow tie and toed off his own shoes. "It was a gala. There were famous people and reporters there. It was exhausting. Why? What did you think?"

"I was just asking because I actually had a lovely time."

Draco stepped into the kitchen to find Hermione had put the kettle on and was opening a packet of chamomile tea. He leaned on the counter and crossed his arms. "You're just saying that because you met Neil Gaiman."

As Hermione turned pink with glee, the kettle began to whistle. Draco reached up into one of the cabinets to grab two mugs.

"While I did particularly enjoy meeting Mr. Gaiman, that actually wasn't my favourite part of the night."

The sick feeling in Draco's stomach returned as Hermione poured boiling water into the mugs.

"Please say it wasn't my father," he said with a grimace, though he knew the answer already.

"You saw that?" Hermione's mouth grew thin. For a moment, Draco thought she might elaborate, but she waved the comment off as if it was nothing. "Oh, no. It wasn't that."

"What did he say to you anyway?" Draco fetched two spoons from one of the drawers and handed one to Hermione. "You looked nervous."

"It was… well, it wasn't particularly nice. But before it got too bad, Harry pulled me away. Told your father something about some journalist looking for him, which was definitely a lie. Very brave of him to interrupt the great Lucius Malfoy, don't you think?"

Draco grunted and pulled the mug to his lips.

"Talking with him was honestly the brightest spot in my night." Hermione smiled into her mug as she sipped.

Suddenly the tea didn't seem so appetising.

Clearly, this Potter bloke had noticed how amazing Hermione was. It wasn't hard to see. She was brilliant to talk to and gorgeous to boot. Even here, barefoot and sipping tea with her hair wild and bags under her eyes. What wasn't to love?

Hermione deserved love. He knew that. So why did the thought of her mooning over someone else make him feel nauseous?

"Was it?" Draco attempted to hide his discomfort by pretending to take his own sip. "I'd have thought the brightest spot was when we listened to about twenty-five different stories about Lillehammer."

Hermione rolled her eyes and groaned. "Urgh. Don't remind me. But seriously, Harry's really lovely. We talked about meeting up after the Olympics. Maybe you could come too? Bring Astoria. It could be fun."

"Sure." Draco ran a hand through his hair and cradled the mug in his hands, tapping his fingers near the brim as he searched his brain for a change in topic. The last thing he wanted to think about was a fucking double date. "Do you need help with your hair? It looks like a tangled mess."

Hermione reached to feel the back of her head and winced. Her eyebrows raised for a moment and she opened her mouth with the twitch of a smile, but as quickly as it came, the expression died away. "Oh, uh, no thanks. I can manage on my own."

"You sure?"

Hermione held her mug close to her chest. "I think…" She swallowed and looked down at her toes. "…I think that's the sort of thing you should only really help Astoria with."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well…" Draco scrubbed the back of his neck as he fought to push down the weight that had settled in his chest. "I'm glad you had a good time with Potter tonight."

Hermione's lips twitched. "Yes. It was… a nice change to the evening." She yawned. "I think I'm going to head to bed."

As if on cue, Draco's phone buzzed in his trouser pocket. Hermione's eyes flicked toward the source of the noise.

"That'll be Astoria, then?"

Draco made a noncommittal noise in his throat. "I suppose."

"You'd better give her a call. Tell her about tonight. I'm sure she'd love to know that you shook hands with Daniel Craig."

As she passed by him, Hermione's hand lingered on his forearm for just a moment before she headed down the hall toward her bedroom—the bedroom she'd really only started using regularly eight months ago.

Draco watched, heart beating in his throat, as her lovely silhouette disappeared behind her bedroom door.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed again.

The 2012 Summer Olympics passed in a flash. They watched a handful of events in person—a couple swimming and track events. Some gymnastics. Most of it, though, was spent on the couch in their flat.

For a handful of those afternoons, Draco invited Astoria over. She came bearing healthy snacks like carrot sticks and roasted almonds and spent hours cuddled into him on the couch. It was pleasant enough, feeling her pressed into his side as he watched Women's Butterfly races. But what he really wanted was to do what he always did during Olympic events: provide running commentary with Hermione while they stuffed their faces with decidedly _unhealthy_ snacks. The two of them had a rhythm to the way they watched the Olympics. One that didn't involve another person.

It was awkward, trying to find that same rhythm with Astoria between them. Draco found himself wanting to make comments to Hermione about a swimmer from China or a gymnast from America, but about half the time he looked over the top of Astoria's head, he found that his best friend seemed glued to the television.

By the time the two weeks had passed, Draco found that he was quite glad to be done with the event. The Olympics dragged on far longer than he would have liked, considering he watched them in near-silence rather than enjoying them in the fun, casual way he normally did.

He was also glad to be done with the Olympics, because it meant that he could stop seeing pictures of Harry Fucking Potter every time he passed by a news stand. The bastard was apparently the UK's new golden boy—literally. He'd won a hard-earned gold medal that had the whole country cheering when he finally stepped up to the podium.

The one thing Draco commended him for was this: Potter's success made the general public excited about fencing, which was a feat in and of itself. Draco heard through the grapevine that kids everywhere were asking for lessons.

Still, that didn't stop the man from being a wanker in Draco's eyes.

What bothered him about Potter wasn't the man himself. Draco was sure that he was likely nice enough. No, what really peeved him was the fact that after the gala, some shit photographer had seen fit to publish a photo of him chatting with Hermione on the front cover of a tabloid.

This, unfortunately, led to public speculations that perhaps Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger might not be UK's sweethearts after all.

It hadn't been pretty, the morning that cover appeared when Draco ran out to Tesco to grab some eggs.

Perhaps that had something to do with why he was so bothered when Hermione asked him and Astoria to come with her and Potter to a restaurant.

"Come on," she pleaded, widening her puppy-dog eyes as she slung a duffel bag over her shoulder on their way out the door. "It'll be fun. I know you'll love Harry! He finally has time off tonight. You can ask him questions about the Olympics."

Draco raised any eyebrow, adjusting the grip on his own bag. "Why would I do that?"

"Because you and I want to attend them in two years." She tilted her head, as though this were the obvious thing to do.

"Hermione, if I wanted to ask someone about the Olympics, there are quite literally dozens of people at our disposal I could ask. Hell, I could even ask my own parents. And they could tell me about the _Winter_ Olympics, too."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, but Draco could see the hint of a smirk on her lips. "Now you're just being an arse."

With a shrug, Draco opened the front door of their flat. "Here I am, just your local arse, holding the door open for you."

They stuck out tongues at each other, and somehow, by the time they got to the rink, Hermione had convinced him to call Astoria about dinner.

"A double date?" Her perky voice sounded through the smartphone's speaker later that morning. "That sounds fun. It's about time Hermione got herself a boyfriend."

Draco offered a noncommittal grunt. "Sure."

"Oh, come off it, Draco. She hasn't had a boyfriend since that… Viktor chap you told me about? Or was it that redheaded skater?"

"I just don't like to think about it, to be honest." Draco sighed into the receiver.

"Oh, please." He could practically hear his girlfriend roll her eyes. "She's your skating partner. Not your sister or daughter or anything. Let her have some fun!"

The idea of watching Hermione flirt with Potter left Draco feeling slightly off-kilter all day, and by the time they left the rink around five o'clock, he was more than done. Snape practically chased him off the ice, telling him not to come back until he screwed his head on all the way.

The nausea didn't leave him as he listened to the telltale signs of Hermione getting dressed up behind her bedroom door. She sang in the shower—not that well, he might add—and hummed loudly as she moved around. She sounded happy. Giddy, almost.

His stomach roiled—did she already fancy Potter that much?

She eventually emerged, dressed in some strapless, navy dress that flattered her athletic figure. She'd tamed her hair and tied it back into some fancy-looking knot.

At least he still had that. He was likely the only man who knew what her hair looked like when she wore it down. What it looked like when her curls spread across a pillow…

"Ready?" Hermione asked, moving toward the entryway with her clutch in her hands. "You look really sharp, by the way. Astoria's one lucky lady." She reached over and straightened the collar on his white shirt. "There. Now you're ready."

His stomach was in knots, and though he hoped that meeting up with his girlfriend would cure his ails, he had no such luck.

"Hey, you." Astoria kissed his cheek outside the semi-posh restaurant Hermione had found for the four of them. "Please tell me you haven't done anything stupid yet."

Draco snorted. "I'm trying, honestly. But it might be too soon to tell." The last words fell from his tongue just as Potter rounded the corner.

He tried to stem his ire as the bastard kissed Hermione's cheek and clapped his back. "Good to see you, Draco. And you must be the girlfriend I've heard about." He turned to face Astoria.

"The very one." Astoria offered a charming smile as they proceeded inside to their table.

He and Astoria slid into one side of the booth while Hermione and Potter sat across from them. There were a few minutes of silence as everyone perused the menu. Draco tried to focus on the various fish selections, but his eyes kept darting over the top of the menu. Hermione was absorbed in the list of specials, unblinking as she chewed her lip—something she only did whenever she was concentrating.

A glance next to her showed that Potter was doing much the same. There were no obvious attempts to flirt coming from him. No quick looks or attempted hand-holding.

For some reason, Draco found this reassuring. He returned to his menu and settled on the seared tuna.

While they waited for starters to arrive, conversation was light enough. Because they were all athletes, there was talk about workout routines. Talk about protein drinks and meal prepping. Potter even offered a bit of chatter about some behind-the-scenes gossip about the gym at the Olympic Village.

"And you're telling me they didn't clean that bench afterward?" Astoria made a face as she sipped her gin and tonic. "Ugh, when I own my own gym, I'll make sure to have security cameras rolling twenty-four-seven."

"Oh, there were cameras." Potter chuckled between a gulp of beer. "They just didn't care. Exhibitionists, likely."

Astoria laughed, but Draco felt his jaw tense when Hermione blushed.

"Why tell this story? Are you a bit of an exhibitionist yourself, Potter?" The words tumbled from Draco's mouth in a slightly scathing tone.

Hermione turned a brighter shade of scarlet. "D-Draco!" she spluttered, setting her glass of wine on the table.

Potter leaned back in his seat. A slightly-raised eyebrow was the only indication that he heard the accusation. "No, not at all. Not that it's any of your business. I'm a fairly private person."

To Draco's annoyance, Hermione seemed to like this answer. Her lips twitched in a half-smile as she reached for her wine again.

He stayed relatively quiet as they ate soup and salad and some delicious bacon-wrapped figs. His girlfriend seemed to hit it off with Potter in a way she hadn't with Hermione. The two of them had always been slightly awkward around each other. Not that it really came as a surprise. He'd slept with both women, though Astoria didn't know that.

Astoria and Potter spoke at length about rugby and debated fiercely about the best fish and chips they'd ever had. Between quips and bites of their main dishes, Draco and Hermione kept shooting each other amused smiles. With just the flick of an eyebrow or the twitch of a mouth, Draco found that the two of them were almost having an entire conversation without speaking.

 _Should we just leave?_ Hermione jerked her head toward the door with a small smile.

_They wouldn't notice, would they?_

_Definitely not._

Draco furrowed his brows in mock confusion. _Should I be mad?_

 _Nah. Let them have their fun_. Hermione pinched her lips into a frown and scrunched her nose as she shook her head and fought back a grin.

"—Draco, are you even listening?" Astoria's voice broke through the silent conversation.

"Hm?" He swiveled to face his girlfriend, feeling as though cotton had just been pulled from his ears. The restaurant felt very loud all of a sudden.

Astoria just rolled her eyes and directed her next words at Potter. "These two, I swear. Always in their own little world. That's a note for you, Harry. You'll have to be assertive if you want to play a part in Hermione's life. Anyone who's outside of their little bubble has to."

Potter chuckled into his cottage pie. "Noted." He glanced up at Hermione with a stupid grin that made Draco grind his teeth. "Is that true, Hermione? Are you and Malfoy in your own little world?" He nudged Hermione's shoulder and she turned to smile at him softly.

The bastard was actually trying to flirt. And it actually seemed to be working. Draco wasn't sure what circle of hell he had landed in that guaranteed him a front row seat to this vomit-inducing nightmare.

After their plates had been cleared and they ordered two slices of cake for the table to split, Hermione excused herself to the loo. Astoria followed suit, grabbing her clutch and making Draco stand while she slid out from her spot in the booth. When Draco sat back down, he fiddled with his napkin for a bit while Potter checked his phone.

"So you and Hermione are really close, then?" Potter offered the conversation up as a sort of olive branch.

Draco could have answered nicely. Been straightforward and not an arse. But he couldn't get Potter's stupid flirtatious smile out of his memory.

"Well, we have been skating together for over a decade." He scoffed into his water glass.

"Right." Potter cleared his throat. "That's… a long time."

"Yes. It is."

Silence stretched between them, but for some reason, Draco found it more grating than botched attempts at conversation.

"So…" he began after his annoyance bubbled over. "You and Hermione, huh?"

"Er, yeah. About that—" Potter ran his hands through his stupidly tousled hair. Something about the gesture tweaked Draco's nerves in the wrong way. Something about Potter was just… off. It was probably all the fame from the recent gold medal. It'd probably all gone to his head. And now, coming off all that, he was going for Hermione? Absolutely not. Draco wouldn't stand for it.

"What? Are you just in it to get into her knickers or something?" It was a low jab, but that didn't matter. Not when Hermione's dignity was on the line.

Potter drew back, brows immediately furrowing. "What? No, Malfoy, I don't—"

"Don't tell me you think you're being clever." Draco sneered across the table. "Big boy Harry Potter finally got a taste of fame, and now he's trying to dip his cock in some premium quim?"

Potter had the decency to turn green.

"Well guess what? You're not good enough for her. I know your type. You get your head all blown up because someone wants you to be the face of their advertisement campaign and suddenly you think you deserve women like Hermione. Think you're entitled to them."

Although every muscle in his body was pulled taut, Draco fought to remain cool and collected on the outside. He lifted his tumbler and swallowed the rest of his drink in one. Potter was still silent, so he pushed on, bolstered by the alcohol now swimming in his system.

"Because let me tell you: She is premium. All of her. Every inch. I would know." Draco pointed at his own chest to make sure Potter got the hint. "And if you think you can just waltz into her life and expect to become her number one man, then you better think again. Because that title belongs to me."

He finished his declaration with a solemn nod before leaning back. Silence reigned over the booth in the aftermath. Draco felt much better, having made his point known. Potter had turned a delicate shade of purple and was frowning into his lap.

From behind him, someone tapped him on the shoulder. Draco whirled his head around to see Astoria with a funny-looking smile on your face. "Excuse me, Draco." He obliged, standing to let his girlfriend slide back in.

"Everything good?" he asked, guiding her with his hand on her lower back.

She nodded, her lips pursed in that same, strange smile.

"Where's Hermione?" Draco craned his head to see if he could spot her anywhere.

"She's still in the loo," Astoria answered as the server delivered their desserts.

Hermione returned not long after, but even her return didn't bring conversation back to the table. She kept eyeing him with a confused expression with every bite of cake she took.

The check was split three ways—Draco paid for himself and Astoria. Potter, surprisingly, did not pick up the tab for Hermione.

Arsehole.

They then went their separate ways. Potter made some excuse and practically bolted from the front of the restaurant. Draco felt awful, watching Hermione gawk after him as he made his escape. He was tempted to make an apology to Astoria and take Hermione home to tuck her in bed, but his girlfriend had gone and worn his favourite of her dresses—an emerald one that sat dangerously high on her legs. And when she leaned down to adjust her shoes, he could see the hint of black lace.

Tonight would be a sweet one, indeed.

Hermione hailed a cab, murmuring to both of them to have a good night before climbing into the back seat. She didn't really look at either of them as she did it, but Draco noticed the pink of her cheeks and the tight set of her jaw. The poor girl must have been embarrassed to be abandoned like that. That just left himself and Astoria. She lived nearby, and the two of them walked the few blocks back to her flat. Draco kept his fingers splayed across her lower back, much as he had in the restaurant. He couldn't wait to get her front door closed so he could peel that dress off her inch-by-inch.

The farther they walked, though, the more it became apparent that something was wrong. Normally, Astoria would have leaned into his touch, perhaps tilting her head onto his shoulder or reaching to place her own hand on his back.

Right now, she was very stiff. She kept her eyes focused straight ahead on the lamplit pavement.

Something was definitely wrong.

"Lovely food at dinner," Draco offered, testing the waters.

She hummed in response.

Yes, something was definitely wrong.

His Astoria was never quiet. She always had something to say, especially when it came to critiquing service industry experiences.

They finished their walk to her flat. Instead of having his way with her the moment they got in the door, the two of them simply walked through the threshold. Astoria unbuckled her strappy heels and padded into the house toward the sitting room.

The scene nearly reminded Draco of the night of the gala a few weeks earlier. Only that night, it had been Hermione who he'd watched relax after a stressful night in fancy dress.

"Care for anything?" Draco offered as he walked to the kitchen. If they weren't going for the bedroom right away, perhaps she'd like a cuppa instead.

Astoria shook her head. She was sitting bolt upright on her couch, seated near the very edge of one of the cushions instead of leaning back like she usually did.

Draco paused and then veered toward the sitting room instead. "Is everything okay?" He sat beside Astoria, leaning his head down to get a better look at her face. She looked, in a word, miserable. The bubbly woman who'd made conversation with Potter all evening was gone, and instead, replaced with a melancholy shadow of herself. "Astoria?"

"No, Draco," she whispered as she looked down at her lap. "It's not okay."

Draco furrowed his brow. "What's going on? Was it… something wrong with tonight?"

Astoria swallowed and looked up at him. There was a heavy sadness that lurked behind her beautiful eyes, and Draco wasn't quite sure what to do about it.

"Sort of. Not exactly."

Confusion building, Draco scooted closer and took his girlfriend's hands in his. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm here for you."

He half expected Astoria to lean on him. Perhaps he even expected her to cry, though she wasn't exactly the weepy sort.

What he didn't expect was for her to chuckle.

"…Astoria?"

She brought her hand to her mouth to stifle the light laugh. "It's just… it's all so obvious now, isn't it?"

Draco tilted his head. "Obvious?"

"Oh, Draco." Astoria stood, pulling her hands from his. "You're not mine to be here for."

There was a brief pause as the air around him grew cold and still. A wave in his stomach was the next indication that something was wrong. "I'm… not?"

"You never have been. Not really, I suppose." Astoria sighed and walked over to her liquor cabinet to draw out a bottle of vodka. She poured herself a shot. It was all Draco could do to keep his eyes on her, trying his hardest to pay attention in case she gave a hint about what the hell she was doing.

"Astoria, I don't understand."

She tipped her head back to drink the shot and set the tiny glass down with vigor. "Of course you don't. You've got your head so far up your arse, Draco Malfoy."

 _That,_ he understood.

"Now wait just a minute—"

"No, _you_ wait just a minute." She turned to face him, hands on her hips. "You'd been kind of a jerk to Hermione's date all night, but _that_ , I was expecting. No surprises there." Astoria shook her head and poured herself another shot. "Imagine my shock, however, when I came back from the loo alone to find you not only berating Potter and acting far too protective, but also implying that you've slept with her? Is that true?"

Draco wanted this couch to swallow him up whole. He'd be safe, living out the rest of his days between the cushions.

He could lie, but he knew enough about his girlfriend—had seen her take on enough punching bags—that he didn't want to get on her bad side.

"It… well, yes. I have. But not since… I would never—"

"I'm not accusing you of cheating, Draco. You're not _that_ much of an arsehole."

Draco couldn't quite tell whether to feel relieved or more worried, still.

Astoria sighed again and screwed the lid to the vodka bottle back on. "Look, from the moment I started flirting with you in the gym, I knew it would be a risk, dating you." She bent over to place the bottle back in the cabinet. "You were Draco Malfoy, for god sakes, This country loves you. Loves you and Hermione. And if tabloids were to be believed, you two have been together since you were kids.

"I knew, when I gave you my number, that it'd be an uphill battle. You got to touch this beautiful girl every day. Hold her. Take care of her on the ice. And then, to top it all off, you lived with her. I didn't stand a chance. Still, you were completely gorgeous and charmed the actual pants off me."

Astoria paused here, and Draco felt compelled to say something here to comfort her. Offer some words of reassurance, but none formed on his tongue.

"And don't get me wrong, I'm not surprised that you've slept with her. I'm not mad, either. I just… the way you defended her tonight. The way you stick your stupid neck out for her, even when it's unnecessary, that's never going to happen for me."

"Astoria—"

"Don't tell me I'm wrong. Because I'm not." Astoria reached for a cardigan that she kept hanging over the back of her couch and pulled it on, wrapping her arms around her middle. "And I suppose it's partially on me for not seeing it sooner. But Draco, I just… I don't think I can do this anymore."

The words he had been dreading settled around him, reverberating in his ears. She didn't mean… she _couldn't_ mean…

"I want to break up, Draco."

Draco blinked as he tried to process what Astoria was saying. She… wanted to break up? Because he had been an arsehole to Potter? Because he'd slept with Hermione? She said that she wasn't mad, but she had to be if she was breaking up with him.

Draco stared at the floor, trying to think of something to say. When he finally got the courage to look up, desperation filled his throat. She couldn't break up with him. They'd had such a good nine months together. He'd already been planning their first anniversary. Been planning other dates for them to go on. He'd been looking at a bracelet for her birthday.

Every hope and plan crashed and burned around him, and Astoria just stood there with the same melancholic stiffness in her expression. "I just… I don't understand. I want to be with you, Astoria. I… I lo—"

"Don't say something you don't mean." The words came out half-choked, and Draco could see the beginnings of tears pricking the corners of her eyes. " _Please._ For both our sakes."

"But I do," Draco insisted, standing and reaching for her hands. "I do love you. I know I haven't said it before, but I wanted to. Honestly. I was working up the nerve, and—"

"You don't love me, Draco Malfoy." Astoria's smile turned sad, almost in a pitying sort of way. He couldn't tell if she was about to laugh or cry.

Draco blinked and squeezed her hands. "Is that why you're breaking up with me?"

Astoria looked down at their hands and sniffed. She then withdrew one of them and cupped his cheek. Draco leaned into the touch he had grown to rely on these last few months.

"Draco, if you can't figure out why I'm breaking up with you, then you're a blind fool."

Draco wanted to ask her more—to demand stronger, clearer answers, but Astoria asked him to leave after that. He suspected she wanted to cry.

And sad and confused as he was, he still wanted the best for Astoria. So he respected her wishes. He slipped on his shoes, and without so much as a goodbye, he slipped into the night.

During the entire cab ride home, Draco felt numbness building higher in his body, first starting at his toes and working its way up. By the time he paid and got out in front of the flat he shared with Hermione, it was as though his entire body was mechanical, and he was forcing himself to go through the motions of walking.

He felt nothing. Was in control of nothing.

Draco desperately needed to be in control.

Air forced its way into his lungs, and with each step he took, it was coming faster and sharper until no amount of breath felt satisfying. Draco gulped the night air, trying to slow his breath.

Control. He needed control.

He didn't notice that he was crying until he unlocked the front door with shaking hands. Hot droplets fell onto his fingers, cooling the moment the touched skin. Draco sniffed and wiped his face with his sleeve. The jacket'd need dry cleaning, but he didn't give a damn about that right now.

Right now, what he needed was control.

He needed to sit in bed and take deep breaths until the world around him stopped spinning. Until something about what Astoria just did made any semblance of sense. Draco stepped through the door and slipped his shoes off, hanging the keys on the hook at about eye level.

"Draco? Is that you?"

Hermione's voice drifted through the flat.

Hermione.

His Hermione.

His rock.

He never felt more in control than when she was beside him.

Fully aware that he probably looked like he had been through hell and back, Draco stepped with confidence toward the source of Hermione's voice—to her bedroom. He didn't bother knocking before stepping inside.

She was sitting up in bed, a book propped in her lap. When he entered, she looked up, and her expression immediately became worried.

"Draco, are you—"

"I need you, Hermione." The words hung between them. It took a moment for Draco to realise what he'd said, and just one more before Hermione seemed to as well. " _Please."_

No more words were necessary. Hermione knew him by heart. There must have been devastation written all over his face, because it took no more convincing than that. Hermione pulled back the covers—an invitation for him to crawl into bed with her.

Draco shed his jacket, shirt, and trousers on his way across the room. By the time his lips met hers, their bodies colliding for the first time in almost a year, he knew he'd finally found the control he'd been looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, writing the double date that goes wrong was such a joy. 
> 
> Oh, Draco, Draco, Draco... I know you look good in green, but in jealousy? Not so much. 
> 
> The story continues next week! Happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hermione has a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close to chapter one, aren't we? I've been enjoying all your speculations. They bring me joy. 
> 
> Enjoy this little interlude in Japan. 
> 
> In which Hermione has some revelations. 
> 
> All the thanks to Graceful Lioness.

**December 2013**

Hermione giggled from her spot on the couch in the tiny rented room as Draco belted off-key into his microphone. Fearing nerves might get the best of their night, the two of them had found a local karaoke and gotten to work staying busy.

They weren't exactly in Japan for a long time, but they were determined to have some sort of cultural experience while they were here. It had been four days ago that their plane had landed at Narita. From the moment they walked through customs, their time in Japan had been dictated by two things, and two things alone: rehearsals and screaming fans.

Mostly, the latter.

Hermione knew that they had fans in the UK. She found herself signing the occasional autograph or posing for selfies when she went out and about. But Japan took their fandom to a level of obsession yet unknown to her.

The arrivals area at Narita had been packed with fans, screaming and holding signs of all shapes, sizes, and colours. Tiny packages of cookies, good luck charms, and hand-drawn illustrations of them had been shoved into their hands as they walked by the line-up.

It had been overwhelming to say the least.

She and Draco were in Japan for the Grand Prix Final. This was not their first time qualifying, but it was the first time Hermione felt confident enough to believe they might come in first here. Only six ice dancing pairs from across the world qualified each year. It truly was the best of the best. Not even the Olympics were this tough—though Hermione did admit that the prestige of that particular competition came with its own unique pressures. They'd already qualified to compete in Sochi, but Hermione couldn't think about that right now. Not yet. They still had to get through this competition first.

Winning the Grand Prix Final would set the stage for a good outlook heading into the Olympics. And they needed as much of a good outlook as they could muster.

This was their year. Hermione could feel it.

She could especially feel it as Draco tried to sing along to _Suit & Tie._ Her skating partner had never been this relaxed headed into competitions. Of course, she was the one notorious for her pre-competition anxiety, but that wouldn't hit until tomorrow morning. For Draco, the night before a big competition was always spent pacing and puttering around their hotel room. He couldn't sit still. He liked to keep his hands and feet busy.

Hermione was a nauseous worrier, but Draco was a fidgety one.

Draco had fiddled with every light switch and unique gadget in their room until Hermione thought she was going to explode.

Casually, she suggested finding karaoke.

"It'll get your mind off tomorrow." Hermione explained as Draco teetered back and forth on the balls of his feet. She looked up the nearest spot on her phone and they walked the short distance to the well-scrubbed, fun-looking spot. It was lit by a bright blue neon sign. Inside, they could see several occupied rooms with flashing lights and occupants dancing in groups.

Taking Draco's twitchy hand, Hermione led him inside.

Karaoke, it turned out, was the perfect cure for nerves. After only twenty-five minutes, Draco was visibly more relaxed. He'd already sung a handful of Beatles classics and was now venturing into some of this year's more prominent pop hits. Hermione joined in sometimes as well, though she left most of the singing to her partner. Together they danced around, jumping on the couches and munching on Japanese snacks between songs.

When _Suit & Tie _finished, Draco took a flourishing bow and collapsed beside her on the couch. He was covered in sweat, despite the snow that was piling up outside.

"Thanks for this idea," he breathed, his chest heaving. "I needed to get out of my own head."

Hermione beamed. "I'm glad you feel better." She reached over and ruffled his hair, only to find that part of him covered in sweat, too. Making a face, she wiped her hand on his trousers.

He just rolled his eyes and handed her the remote. "Okay. Your turn."

Hermione double checked her song choice in the selection book—they'd only been able to use a tiny percentage of the thick volume. Most of it was occupied by songs in languages they definitely didn't speak. Thankfully, the book was fairly up-to-date, with recent hits from the radio on the extensive list. She punched in the code for her selection on the remote and grabbed one of the microphones.

"Come on, Draco. Let's do this one together." She pointed to her song choice in the book. His eyes grew a little wider.

"I don't think I have the energy for that one." He flopped over on the couch, his arm dangling over the side as if to prove his point.

"Oh, come on." Hermione leaned forward and tugged him onto his feet just as the image of dandelions floating in the wind appeared on the television screen behind where the lyrics were about to pop up. "This can be our last song of the night. Our grand finale. _Pleeeaaaase._ " She batted her eyelashes as a last defense.

Draco sighed and grabbed a microphone. "Fine. But only because you won't shut up about it if I don't."

"Oh, stop being dramatic. You love this song."

The opening bars to _Wrecking Ball_ filled their private room and the party lights flashed accordingly.

~*~*~*~

Hermione was grateful they called the night off when they did. As predicted, the morning of the Grand Prix Final, she woke up with knots in her stomach and half a mind to just vomit now and get it over with.

That feeling was only made worse when she didn't get enough sleep. Thankfully, the Miley Cyrus song had been their last. They'd dropped by a Lawson's convenience store to grab hydrating drinks and then headed straight to bed. No funny business allowed. Though they slept in each other's arms, there had been no other kinds of touching at all.

Draco had pouted a bit, but only as a joke.

It had been nearly a year and a half since he'd broken it off with Astoria, and he hadn't dated anyone since. At least, as far as Hermione knew. There had been the occasional one night stand, but that was normal for a young, attractive man like Draco. When those girls weren't around, he turned to Hermione to meet his sexual needs again. And whether it was a healthy thing or not, she had eagerly fallen into bed with him.

When he found himself another girlfriend some time in the future, they would call off this whatever-it-was they were doing once again. It wasn't a big deal. Hermione could cope.

Still, when he was with Astoria, she had missed the feeling of his hands on her body. The way he took his time between her legs. What she could do with her own fingers just couldn't compare to the sweet relief he provided. She had to enjoy this interlude with Draco while she could. Who knew when another girl would come along and cut their… _whatever-it-was_ short.

Thoughts of Draco's head between her legs was enough to distract Hermione from her nausea while she showered and dressed. However, it wasn't quite enough to help her choke down any sort of food.

Although their hotel was relatively close to the competition at Yoyogi National Gymnasium, a shuttle delivered them from door to door. Instead of the main entrance, the van dropped them off at the back of the arena to a rear entrance, away from the hordes of screaming fans. On the way in, Hermione was certain she saw a giant cardboard version of her and Draco's faces as well as multiple signs reading _Dramione_ —the absurd name fans had invented in hopes that she and Draco were somehow more than just skating partners.

Which, in a way, was true.

But perhaps not in the way those fans wanted.

Warm-ups proceeded as normal. Hermione finally vomited after stretching, and it was a weight off her shoulders, now that particular bit of the day was over and done with.

"You okay?" Draco asked when she emerged from the loo. He offered her a fresh bottle of water.

"Yeah." She shrugged. "I'll be tip-top soon enough."

He rubbed her back as she lay face-down on the warm-up room floor. Beside them, Fleur and Roger eyed them warily as they helped each other stretch their legs and backs.

They were the other pair slated to do well today, and were Hermione and Draco's main competition for first place.

All four had been skating together in competitions for years. There had always been a bit of a back-and-forth dynamic between the two pairs, with one couple winning a competition one year and then the other couple swooping in and claiming the title in the next. Their number of victories was almost neck-and-neck.

Hermione only wished they were nicer people.

She had always perceived the pair to be snobby and antisocial. While the other four couples at the Grand Prix Final were lovely and fun to see at every competition, there was an air of haughtiness that followed Fleur and Roger wherever they went. Even Draco, who was haughty in his own right, agreed that the French pair left a lot to be desired.

Hermione wished she hadn't nearly been sick in front of them. They seemed like they ate weakness for breakfast.

"Ignore them," Draco murmured in her ear. As always, it was like he could read her thoughts.

"I would, but they look as though someone stuck some of those fermented beans under their noses."

Draco made a face at the memory of the quintessential Japanese food that their interpreter insisted they try.

"You are going to make _me_ vomit if you keep bringing up those damn beans."

Today's competition was reserved for both forms of couples' skating. The Singles Final had taken place yesterday, and now all that was left was Pairs and Ice Dancing. Pairs were scheduled to perform first. A break would follow. Then, it would be Hermione and Draco's turn to wow the crowd.

With make-up and hair completed after stretching, Snape cleared them to relax backstage until their final warm-ups. To distract themselves, they tried to watch some absurd Japanese game show on the TV in their dressing room, but after a while, even that didn't stop the nerves from flowing freely.

At the half-hour mark, they changed into their costumes and began final stretches. At ten minutes, they made their way to the backstage area just behind the rink. There, Snape offered his usual overly-serious pep talk as they laced up their skates.

Draco held Hermione close as they whispered their pre-skate mantra.

"It'll be just us out there."

"Just us."

She listened to his heart beat and he kissed the top of her head.

Then came the roar of the crowd as the door opened to reveal the rink. Fleur and Roger were just finishing their routine. It looked nearly flawless, as always.

As they received their scores, Hermione and Draco paid no mind. They simply held each other's hands and waited for the all-clear to head to the center of the ice.

This year's Free Dance was unquestionably sad. The song, from a famous musical, tugged at the heartstrings of its listeners and it was their sole job to bring that melancholy to life with their movements.

This may have been their most powerful skate to date. Every moment they spent on the ice, Hermione felt her breath matching with Draco's. At this moment, they existed to tell the story of the girl in the song—the girl who would never be loved, because the one man who she loved only had eyes for another. They had to make each person in the audience feel her heartache and desperation.

Hermione threw her whole heart into each lift, each turn and twizzle. She reached toward Draco, stretching toward him with graceful fingertips that barely grazed him each time she passed. He often remained just out of reach, and each time she fell into his arms, it was just enough to give her hope.

Until it suddenly wasn't. That was the climax of the song, and Hermione swore that each time they performed that pinnacle lift, half the audience was in tears.

This was more than skating. It was art.

From the moment they nailed their final lift, Hermione knew that this performance had been something special. Not a single hair had been out of place as they performed. Every turn had been perfect, every lift precise.

And when they hit their final pose as the music faded away, the crowd sat in stunned silence for a full five seconds before bursting into applause.

Draco released her one second later, helping her to her feet before pumping his fist in the air. He ran his fingers through his hair as he skated toward her, eyes blown wide with wonder and disbelief. Hermione could hardly hear his excited cries of, "We did it!" amongst all the cheering from the audience.

After a few more moments of celebrations, they did their four-way bow. Hermione caught a glimpse of her mother sitting in the section of the audience reserved for families. She was wearing a Union Jack badge and holding a sign that Hermione recognised. It contained an old photograph of Draco and Hermione during the first season they'd skated together, all the way back in 2001. She'd seen it at countless competitions before this. Dad had ordered it special from a local print shop and had held it aloft at so many of their competitions. When Mum felt well enough to start coming again, she took up the role.

Although it had been nearly five years since her dad had been involved in that fatal crash, Hermione couldn't help the ache in her chest each time she looked up to the crowd, hoping somehow, to see him standing there, hands cupped around his mouth, whooping like a maniac.

Today was no exception.

The weight in her chest felt heavy as ever, even as she beamed up at Mum and at the hordes of adoring fans that continued to offer their wild applause.

Yet, as always, the feeling of Draco's hand in hers kept her grounded—kept her moving forward. With their bows finished, the two of them made their way to the edge of the rink. Little girls from the local skate club whisked past them in an effort to collect all the flowers and stuffed animals tossed onto the ice from audience members. Snape was there to greet them just beyond the barrier. He wore a rare half-smile on his normally-sallow face.

"Well done," he whispered as they slipped covers over their blades and accepted bottles of water from volunteers. "It might be close, but I think you two really connected with the audience tonight. There is no doubt in my mind. That was your best performance of the season."

"Are you serious?" Draco paused with the bottle halfway to his mouth.

"Do you know me to be the type of person to kid around, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco smirked into the rim and took a swig. "No, sir."

From there, all three of them were quickly ushered over to the Kiss and Cry station while final scores tabulated. Some peppy Japanese pop song played in the background as they settled onto the bench. In front of them sat the usual group of cameras put in place to capture their reaction.

"You nervous?" Draco whispered in her ear after they sat. He used his hand to block the cameras from capturing the movement of his lips.

Hermione gave a tiny nod. The euphoria from the last moments of the performance had quickly disappeared in favor of another layer of nerves. She wanted to do well. But more than that, if she was completely honest, she wanted to win.

She wanted to be World Champions with Draco. She wanted to stand on a podium, higher than Fleur and Roger.

She wanted to prove that she was good enough. That she was _somebody._ That she was worthy of skating alongside Draco. But more than that, she wanted to prove to everyone that they were the best. That they trained the hardest. That the two of them had something special— _were_ special. That something about the twelve years they'd skated together meant something and that they—the two of them, were somehow meant to be.

Because maybe—just maybe, if they were meant to be out on the ice, it would mean that they were meant to be off the ice as well.

Hermione pushed that dangerous thought to the back of her mind and offered up a hopeful, yet shaky grin.

Draco put a hand on her knee. "It'll be fine. We've done it. I can feel it in my bones."

This managed to make Hermione giggle. "In your bones? What are you, a soothsayer? Or just arthritic?"

"Oh, hush." Draco nudged her shoulder playfully, but just as a grin cracked across his face, the announcer's voice filled the arena.

" _Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy have earned in the Free Dance… 121.74 points. At a total of 201.32 points, they are now in..."_

Hermione held her breath. Beside her, Draco stiffened.

" _...first place."_

The arena erupted. Hermione watched, jaw dropped and eyes wide as Draco immediately hopped to his feet and whooped for joy. He pumped his fist as he shouted an enthusiastic, "Yes!" She watched as he ran his hands through his hair multiple times as he clearly tried to process what was happening. It was all Hermione could do to sit, frozen as she tried to process it as well.

It wasn't until the crowd started laughing that both of them snapped out of their reveries. Draco reached down and scooped Hermione off the bench so her toes barely touched the ground. He held her to his chest, kissing the top of her head over and over until Hermione was certain she could hear multiple young women starting to shriek.

She pulled back and held Draco at arm's length. They simply stared at each other for a moment, stupid grins on their faces, unable to say a word.

Snape interrupted their celebration to offer congratulatory pats on the back. That, more than anything, was considered high praise.

From that moment, the rest of the afternoon was a bit of a blur.

They waited backstage, stewing in their own giddiness for about ten minutes, until the medal ceremony. It was during that time, much to Hermione's delight, that Fleur and Roger offered slightly begrudging congratulations.

By the time they reached the press room with gold medals around their necks, Hermione was officially exhausted. She was only running on caffeine, adrenaline, and giddiness. She managed to keep her eyes open as she was asked about her excitement about the victory and thoughts about the impending Sochi Olympics, but by the time their van pulled up to take them back to the hotel, Hermione was ready to nod off on Draco's shoulder.

He let her sleep all the way, his arm wrapped around her shoulder. It seemed he was sleepy as well. Through her drowsiness, Hermione was sure she heard a half-snore in her ear.

When they reached the hotel, a handful of fans were hanging by the curb in front of the lobby. The two of them sleepily posed for photographs and signed a handful of autographs before waving and making their way to the blissful eden that was their hotel room.

It was over. They'd done it. All that was left to do was to perform in the gala tomorrow and interview in a few more press junkets. If they were lucky, they'd be able to stop by Asakusa Temple or Meiji Shrine the day after, or perhaps the Imperial Palace. Get a little sight-seeing in before it was time to hop on the plane back to the UK.

But for now, Hermione didn't care about any of that. Right now, a nap sounded like the only thing she needed.

The moment she opened their hotel room door, Hermione kicked off her shoes and fell, face first, onto the bed. Draco collapsed beside her, but not before helping her take the gold medal off from her neck and setting it gently on her bedside table.

Within seconds, she knew no more.

~*~*~*~

When Hermione woke, the room was splashed with soft hues of pink and purple, indicating that they must have been asleep for at least an hour, if not a little more. The sun set so early in Japan that it couldn't have been too late if there was still any light outside.

Wiping her face, Hermione yawned and stretched as she sat on the edge of the bed. Then, padding past a still-sleeping Draco, she made her way to the bathroom.

The one thing she loved more than anything about Japan was their baths. Their hotel room had one of the most luxurious bathtubs she had ever seen. It was deep enough to fill up to her neck and a series of jets lined the sides. She'd already taken one bath in it, and tonight seemed like the perfect occasion to fill it again.

Hermione turned on the tap and undressed. As she waited for the water level to rise, she got to work stretching all of her overworked muscles. Her neck. Her shoulders. Biceps. Triceps. Her back.

She was just standing on tiptoe to stretch out her calves when she heard a knock at the door.

"Hermione? Are you in there?"

Smiling at the wall, she called out, "I'm having a bath. Want to join?"

It was a bit of a strange suggestion. The two of them had restarted the sexual part of their relationship over a year ago, but it hadn't really ventured outside of the physical bedroom much. Sure, they had the occasional lazy shag on the couch at home, but Hermione wouldn't describe what they had been doing as particularly emotional or intimate.

Somehow, sharing a bath sounded far more intimate than casually fucking in a bed. It was almost like tempting fate.

Because she hadn't agreed to _emotional_. She hadn't agreed to _intimate_.

Shagging could just be shagging. That's what it had always been. And she had been okay with that.

Mostly.

Sometimes, though, when Hermione was left alone with her thoughts, she craved the more intimate side of sex. It was something she'd felt a handful of times with Draco, but no more than that.

Sex with Draco had always been good, but on those occasions when she'd transcended simple physical release, it had been beyond description. Those few times were burned into her memory.

The way his hands caressed her skin.

His lips leaving a hot, lingering trail all over her body.

On those few occasions, it felt as though he had been trying to savour her, and she, the same. It almost felt holy.

Hermione didn't crave that feeling often. Or, at least, she didn't think she did. Her experience was limited.

In fact, outside of him, she had no experience.

God, she sounded pathetic when she actually thought about it.

But right now she didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to think about the implications of trying to make her relationship more intimate. She didn't want to worry about the complications or consequences of sleeping with her best friend for years while trying to keep her feelings at arms' length.

Today was a happy day. A good day. Perhaps one of the best she'd ever had.

Today, she wanted to feel good—to feel good with Draco. And right now, a bath with him seemed like it might be the right thing to do.

"A bath?" Draco's voice sounded from behind the door. "That sounds… lovely, actually."

Hermione grinned and opened the door, not caring one bit about her nakedness. Draco's eyebrows shot up for a moment as he took in her bare skin, but his expression relaxed a moment later as he walked past her and into the bathroom.

By now, the tub was nearly at the right level. Hermione climbed in while Draco undressed, taking care to fold his clothes in a neat pile. This sat as a direct contrast to Hermione, whose own clothes were lying in a heap by the toilet.

There was something about the moan that escaped Draco's lips the moment he sank into the water… it sent a shiver right through Hermione. A shiver that settled between her legs.

Draco leaned against the side of the tub and Hermione sat between his legs, her back against his solid chest. She fiddled with the knobs along the side of the tub for a moment until bubbles interrupted the serenity of the placid water.

Minutes passed in relative silence with the only sound coming from the soft gurgling of the jets. What could they say? The day spoke for itself. It wasn't their ultimate goal, but today's gold medal felt like a sign. It was as though all the stars were finally aligning.

Hermione wasn't typically a believer in wishing on stars or seeking answers from some astrological sign or other superstitious nonsense, but there was something in the air that told Hermione that this was it. This was the moment they'd been waiting for their whole lives.

And Hermione wanted to bask in it.

Without a single word passing between them, Hermione turned in the water, her hands shifting so they were splayed against Draco's chest. She could feel his heart beating there. See his torso expand and contract with each breath. His slick skin beneath her fingertips felt hot to the touch.

Granted, it was probably because they were in the bath, but there was something about that feeling that sent another jolt across her body.

Hermione's eyes traveled from where her hands rested up to Draco's face. He was watching her intently, his grey eyes focused and intense. It was almost as though he was studying her. Like she was a puzzle he was trying to solve. It was the way that Draco often described her own expression.

Hermione's lips turned up slightly. She felt her cheeks burning slightly under his gaze.

"Hey," she offered in a soft voice, eyes never leaving his.

"Hey." Hermione felt his hands caress the skin behind her shoulders.

"Crazy day, huh?"

"Beyond crazy. Madness, really."

Hermione reached up to cup Draco's face in her palm. "It's real, isn't it?"

Draco chuckled. "Unless your brain and mine both made up the exact same memories of this afternoon."

"It wouldn't be the first time that someone suggested a mind meld between the two of us."

Draco leaned forward and pressed his forehead into hers. Hermione felt her heart speed up beneath her ribs. She swore she felt Draco's do the same.

"Do you know what I'm thinking then?" Draco's forehead was still flush against hers, as though he was trying to transfer his thoughts to her by osmosis.

"Haven't a clue." Hermione grinned and Draco just pressed harder.

"Try again. Come on."

Scrunching her nose, Hermione pretended to focus, bringing her hands up to the side of her head so she could press her index fingers into her temples.

"You're thinking… about how much you love baths."

To her surprise, Draco drew back, a gentle smile dancing on his face. "How'd you know?

Hermione snorted. "Are you serious? I got it right?"

"Yes. Actually."

"Well clearly the mind meld is more than just hearsay."

The two chuckled, and when the laughter faded from her lips, Hermione was left with a warmth in her belly that only appeared when she was at her most comfortable. Her fingers traced patterns in his chest while his drummed the beat to an unknown song along her shoulder blade.

"So, baths, huh?" she spoke gently after a minute. "What makes you suddenly such a fan of them?"

Draco didn't miss a beat. "You."

The blush returned in an instant. She blinked as Draco's answer washed over her. "M-me?"

He nodded, his head dipping down to press his lips into her neck. Hermione released a shaky sigh as he nipped at the wet skin there. "I love how close I can hold you," he whispered between each kiss. "And I love—" He kissed her just under her ear and Hermione felt her heart skip a beat. "—how I can lift you up without straining my muscles. You're practically weightless in here."

Hermione could feel his wicked grin against her skin. She knew he was just joking around, but for a reason she couldn't quite pinpoint, her stomach panged with disappointment.

Not wanting to ruin his good mood, she shoved him playfully. Just a nudge, really.

He shoved her back.

She moved her arms to retaliate, but before she could move, he'd grabbed her shoulders and crushed his lips to hers. They were insistent and voracious, as though he'd been denied for so long before now. Draco backed Hermione up through the bubbling water until she felt her back touch the cool rim of the tub. She sank down onto a small underwater bench until her head was the only bit of her not submerged. Draco had to duck to kiss her now. He gripped the tub on either side of her head, bracing himself as he used his lips to pry her open bit by bit until she was practically putty in his hands.

Draco knew her so well in this way. He'd been right all those years ago. This was a different kind of knowing. He knew her body in a professional capacity, yes, but he also knew exactly how to move his lips and tongue to make her pliant and desperate.

Hermione wrapped her arms around Draco's back to pull him closer. She wanted—no, _needed_ to feel more of him. Their naked chests met under water, and with them came the insistent pressing of Draco's erection against her stomach.

He ground into her now, and she bucked her hips to meet him.

Draco groaned and began to trail kisses down her throat. Keening, Hermione arched her back. Her breasts breached the surface of the water, and Draco took immediate advantage, his lips capturing a nipple.

"We did it," he murmured into the pool of water in the valley between her breasts. "We fucking won, Hermione." Draco switched to the other breast and swirled his tongue around her nipple until it stiffened. "You and I… _we're unstoppable_."

Hermione wasn't sure exactly exactly why, but something about Draco's words sent a bolt of lust right through her.

Her hips canted of their own accord now, and Hermione had never felt more wild. The things Draco did to her… he wasn't even inside her yet, and yet she could hardly contain herself. She heard the moans coming out of her. Heard the cursing. Her writhing was sending water splashing all over the floor. She worried for a minute about creating a mess, but a moment of clarity helped remind her that the bathroom tile had drains lined all along the edge.

With that moment of clarity came the delightful realisation that she could make as big of a splash as she wanted.

Had she been with any other man, Hermione wasn't sure she would have had the courage to grab Draco by the shoulders and flip him around so he was the one sitting on the little underwater bench. She wasn't sure she would have had the courage to climb on top and take control, or to guide his hand to the exact spot right beside her clit that gave her the most pleasure.

But she wasn't with another man. She never had been. She was with Draco, and he gave her the confidence to take charge.

Her sudden movement made a great deal of water spill over the edges of the tub, and it made her feel powerful. Draco was splayed between her spread legs, looking up with eyes so filled with lust it almost looked like he was hypnotised.

Hermione took advantage of the moment and began to sink onto him. The groan that fell from his lips made her cunt clench. Even more, although Draco's head fell back and his eyes shut, his thumb never stopped working, pressing in just the way he knew she liked. She spread her knees across the little bench, bringing him deeper inside.

His breath caught and he muttered a soft, " _Fuck,"_ before biting down gently on her shoulder.

Hermione was the one to set the pace. She took her sweet time, drawing herself up, almost to the point of letting him slip out. Sometimes she'd even hold that position, teasing Draco until he begged her to lower herself again.

When she did, she did it in one, taking him all in at once.

Hermione savoured the loud moans she heard each time.

She moved her hips, keeping the rest of her body balanced by hanging onto the edge of the tub. This position wasn't naturally the most pleasurable for her, but Draco's hard work made it a revelation.

When her hips eventually started to slow with her inevitable fatigue, Draco sat up, clutching her tightly and pressing soft kisses to her chest. He held her like that for several long seconds while he just breathed a gentle pattern against her wet skin.

He finally pulled back, and when he did, the expression in his eyes made Hermione's breath stutter.

There was still lust in the way his pupils dilated, but they had gone softer. Sweeter. It was as though he was trying to have an entire conversation with just his eyes. Hermione wasn't quite sure what he was trying to say with them, but when he gathered her even tighter in his arms and stood, Hermione didn't even make a sound of surprise. She trusted him, wholeheartedly.

Draco stepped from the tub, still clutching her in his arms. As predicted, the floor was soaked, but that was something they could worry about later. He set her down momentarily and reached for a fluffy white towel. With the utmost care, Draco wrapped her in it and pressed it into her skin. With the edges, he squeezed the ends of her hair.

Hermione was almost reminded of the horrific night of Dad's funeral, when he'd nearly done the same for her. Back then, she'd been too far gone to recognise the intimacy of the moment, but here, in their hotel room in Japan, just hours after being crowned World Champions, it all seemed crystal clear.

She loved him.

Wholeheartedly.

Unequivocally.

Unconditionally.

Loved.

And that terrified her.

When Draco had lightly toweled off his own body, he ducked and scooped Hermione off her feet. Foreheads touching, he walked them both back over to their hotel bed. With the utmost care, he set her down on the sheets. He didn't allow any distance between them as he kissed up her cheekbone to her ear. Against her core, she felt Draco there, still hard, pressing against her. When his lips found the shell of her ear, a shiver ran down her entire body.

" _We did it, Hermione."_ Draco nuzzled the side of her face. "You and I. _God,_ I just love…"

Hermione's stomach swooped.

"...the way you feel. I need to feel you. Can I, Hermione? Please?"

She nodded, though she was left to push away disappointment for the second time.

Draco pushed into her, grabbing her ankles at the same time and hoisting them up to his shoulders. The angle was one of Hermione's favourites, and he knew it. She swallowed her disappointment and allowed herself to give in to the waves of pleasure that swept over her with each thrust.

It wasn't long before Draco's pace changed. He trailed kisses across her chest and massaged her breasts as he grew more and more frantic. Hermione, too, felt the familiar build-up of pressure between her legs, and with a few final thrusts, Hermione surged over the edge, her whole body a livewire before she became boneless.

Sometimes, after one of their trysts, she curled into his side to fall asleep. Other times, when it was more of a midday, spur-of-the-moment thing, she simply rolled away to get dressed again.

What she didn't normally do was cry.

Hermione wasn't sure why tears started rolling down her cheeks when Draco collapsed with a sigh beside her. She turned away in hopes to hide them. Stupid tears… she didn't want to ruin the moment.

"Remind me to research Japanese tubs when we get home. Because now I don't think I'll be satisfied with our shower…" His voice trailed off when she gave a slightly-too-loud sniff. "Hermione? What's wrong? Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" Draco hovered over her, leaning on his elbow.

She vehemently shook her head, shutting her eyes so she wouldn't have to see the worry in his face.

"I'm fine," she whispered, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. "I'm just… tired." The lie rolled off her tongue in a tone she was positive wasn't convincing. If Draco pressed her for a better answer, she wasn't sure what she would say. In fact, she wasn't actually sure why she was crying. "It's been an overwhelming day," she added.

Through her blurry vision, she saw a soft smile on Draco's face. He wiped away her remaining tears with his thumb.

"Don't cry," he mumbled. "Today's been a really good day. The best. I want you to fall asleep with a smile on your face." With his voice so tender and affectionate, the corners of her lips turned up, almost involuntarily. He pressed his lips to her forehead. "That's my girl."

He pulled her close, and Hermione curled into his chest, allowing herself to be soothed by the sound of his even breathing as he drifted off to sleep. It should have been comforting. It should have warmed her heart.

Shortly after, Draco drifted off, exhaustion clearly taking hold after the long day they had. He held her close, even in sleep. It should have been comforting. It should have warmed her heart.

But not now. Not this time. Not when she knew the deep hole she had dug herself into.

Not when she knew how hard she'd fallen in love with Draco.

The one promise she'd made to herself was crumbling around her.

She loved him. Wanted to be with him. Wanted to actually be his girl.

But she couldn't be. He wouldn't ever want her in the way that she wanted him. After all, she was just a nobody.

It was a fact that Lucius Malfoy had never let her forget for even one second. He'd reminded her of her place whenever their paths had crossed for the past twelve years, to the point that his voice constantly lingered in the back of her head. It echoed still now, in the near-silence of the hotel room.

Nobody.

Nobody.

_Nobody._

No matter what sweet nothings Draco might whisper in her ear, a million days like this one couldn't change the fact that she would never be good enough for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, a lot of you were wondering what Lucius said to her at the Olympic Gala. There's your answer. 
> 
> In case your wondering, private karaoke rooms in Japan and Korea are awesome, Narita is the main international airport near Tokyo, the beans they're referring to are called 'natto' and a lot of people say they taste like stinky socks. My husband loves them, though. And Japanese baths are incredible. They're really deep, meant to be soaked in. Just a delight. 
> 
> The song they skated to was On My Own from Les Miserables. To access the full Spotify playlist for this fic, click on my profile and look for the link. 
> 
> Happy speculation!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? A 12.5K chapter? Just tell me to stop it already.
> 
> Well, dear readers, take a look at the date. We've arrived. Buckle up.
> 
> All the love to Graceful Lioness, who helped make sure this chapter is all it could be.

**February 2014 - The Sochi Olympics**

"One more time! Back into position!"

Draco rolled his eyes as he reached the end of the sidewalk. Or… what was clearly supposed to be a sidewalk. Whoever was in charge of construction for the Olympic Village had really missed their target. With the 2014 Winter Olympics a few days underway already and most of the Village filled with athletes, the place looked as though it was months away from completion.

It certainly didn't do favours for the video segment they were working on. They were filming B-Roll footage now, having finished the formal interview a couple hours earlier. The British television producer who had flown out with them wanted all sorts of shots of them walking together, holding hands, chatting with jovial smiles on their faces. The BBC was planning on releasing a series of short, five minute documentaries on a handful of promising athletes competing in Sochi, and the two of them had made the shortlist.

Since no audio would be used, Draco had taken it upon himself to try and swear as much as he could get away with. And so far, he was surprised with how many times he'd said 'fuck' and not been scolded by the director or Hermione.

She just shook her head at his immaturity before joining in, herself. Though, of course, she didn't dive right in like him. She'd started off with sweet, innocent swears under her breath like 'bugger', pausing to see if anyone noticed.

It was cute, but Draco knew she could do much better. She had done better the night before in the shabby excuse for a camp bed in his hotel room. The memory of her moaning into his ear as she whined a soft, " _Fuck, Draco. Fuck,"_ wasn't one he could easily forget. Curses always fell from her lips easily when he took her to bed. It was one of the many things he loved about Hermione. She was far more uninhibited than most people assumed.

He and Hermione trudged back up to the beginning of the muddy walkway where they were filming this bit of B-Roll. She kept her mittened hand in his all the way.

"When do you think we'll be done?" she murmured as they approached their target. "I'd like to get a nap in before the party tonight."

Draco heaved a sigh. "God, I hope it's soon. I'm with you on the nap thing. Don't want to go out drinking while I'm sleepy."

"Girls definitely don't like to be hit on by blokes who keep nodding off."

"Why on earth do you keep insisting I'm going to meet a girl tonight?" Draco paused just before they had to turn around.

Hermione shrugged. "It's just… I thought I saw some girls check you out in the dining hall yesterday."

Draco tried not to think about how he'd been buried to the hilt inside Hermione yesterday, and now she was suggesting he hook up with someone else.

He did his best to deflect with humor and snorted. "So, what? Are you my wingman now or something?"

"Only if you want me to be. Although I do think I'd be a pretty good wingman."

They turned around and the director told them to walk forward, holding hands, and pretend to have a sweet conversation.

"Like you're each other's worlds," was the man's guidance.

"Why would I want you to be my wingman?" Draco said through a slightly fake smile. He tried to let his eyes communicate his tone. "If I wanted to, I could find my own dates, thank you very much."

"I know that." Hermione pretended to laugh at something he said. "But I could always talk you up. Isn't that what a wingman is supposed to do? They're supposed to know you better than anyone. Know your tastes. That sort of thing."

Draco scoffed, but quickly transformed it into his own laugh. "Oh? And what's my taste, Hermione? I'd love to hear."

"Shorter. Athletic. You tend to like girls who are talkative and travel in lots of social circles. You need a girl who's kind. Someone who will put up with your dramatic streak. And… has great tits."

At this, Draco barked out a genuine laugh. He almost didn't care that the director might make them start over again because of it. "And how exactly is it that you know about the great tits part?"

She shot him a look that required no words, but she offered them anyway. "Really? You'd think that after all these years, I wouldn't notice how much attention you pay to mine?"

"You do know me, then." He squeezed her hand and shook his head. "Fine, then. You can be my wingman tonight. I doubt that anyone we meet will be up to snuff, but you never know."

From underneath her Team United Kingdom pom-pom hat, she looked pleased with herself.

"Excellent, you two!" The director called when they reached the end of the sidewalk again. "I think we got what we needed that time."

Draco raised one eyebrow in disbelief and turned to find Hermione was wearing an identical expression.

With a few parting words to the film crew, they made their way back to the ridiculous excuse of a hotel where they were staying. Hermione grimaced at the number or exposed wires they saw falling out of holes in the walls. When they'd first moved in, they'd had a good laugh about the lack of stalls in the communal bathrooms. But a few days into the Olympics and with more than ten to go, it wasn't so funny any more.

The arenas themselves were incredibly modern and well-designed. It was just the athletes' quarters in the Olympic Village that left quite a bit to be desired. Thankfully, they spent far more of their time in the well-maintained bits of Sochi than the poorly-constructed bits.

The only downside to spending so much time in the skating arena was that they were subjected to his father's presence nearly constantly. Father was commentating for BBC Sport this year for all skating events, and wherever they went, he seemed to be there. Hermione always turned pale at the sight of him. Draco just steered them in the other direction.

They parted ways in the elevator. He was staying on the fourth floor, one of the male-occupied floors. She was on the fifth. He promised to come up in a couple hours after their respective naps so they could head out to the skaters' party together.

Draco turned around as soon as he exited and watched the door automatically close behind him. He wasn't sure why he'd agreed to let Hermione be his wingman later. What he was sure of was this: He hoped the elevators in this building worked better than everything else.

~*~*~*~

By the time evening rolled around, Draco dressed himself in a navy blazer, tailored trousers, and a shirt with the top few buttons left undone. He'd taken an extra few minutes to make sure his hair was styled just right before lacing up his leather shoes and grabbing his black peacoat. When his sophisticated-yet-approachable look was complete, he traveled up to the fifth floor to fetch Hermione. For some reason, butterflies danced around his stomach as he drew closer. After he knocked Hermione's door and waited for her to answer, he tapped his feet against the tile floors, flexing his fingers.

When her door finally opened and Hermione stepped out, he saw that she had chosen to wear a tight-fitting green dress and heels. It was an outfit that screamed… whatever the opposite of wallflower was. Draco wondered briefly if his best friend had plans of her own tonight. Perhaps she had spotted someone earlier who she was trying to impress.

He hoped not. He rather hoped that no one would try to catch his eye tonight. He honestly wanted to just commit to falling into bed with Hermione tonight rather than summon the enthusiasm for a one-night encounter.

But this was what Hermione wanted. And he was nothing if not a sucker for her wants.

Draco whistled and took her hand, twirling her around in front of her hotel room. "You look completely gorgeous, Hermione. Forget being my wingman tonight. I should be yours."

Hermione blushed and shook her head. "Absolutely not. You… you deserve someone."

The two of them stepped back toward the elevator. Draco kept his hand on Hermione's mid-back, his fingertips lingering on the fabric around the zipper.

Perhaps if tonight didn't work out, he'd get to undo that zipper himself.

The thought made his lips twitch into a secret smile.

In a way, that almost sounded preferable.

One night stands were often more work than they were worth. There was often an awkwardness that accompanied the whole process. For some, the thrill of the newness of it all was worth the effort, but Draco had had the mid-snog 'what are we using for protection?' conversation enough to know he wasn't a fan.

With Hermione, it was so much easier.

She had an IUD, so there was no conversation to be had. He knew exactly what she liked and she knew the same about him. There was no shyness. No weirdness in the morning.

But Hermione was practically insisting he find someone, and even though it wasn't quite what he wanted, he could go along with it.

It was a chilly walk from one building to another, but his blazer kept him warm enough. Draco spent most of the quick trip rubbing Hermione's exposed back. She'd never admit she was cold, stubborn woman that she was, but didn't refuse his hand. He chatted idly all the way about the oddities of their hotel, and although Hermione started out their walk fully participating in the conversation, by the time they reached the entryway to the correct building, she'd gone oddly quiet, only acknowledging his rambling thoughts with nods or small hums. Draco stopped to ask her if everything was okay, but when he opened his mouth, she insisted they hurry inside before guests started leaving.

The party was in full swing when they arrived. Music pulsed through the doorway, and people spilled from the buzzing inside into the quieter corridor. Draco pitied anyone on this particular floor who was trying to sleep tonight. It wasn't particularly loud, but the bass from the speakers was enough to make all the nearby surfaces vibrate, including the walls.

Shoddy construction, the whole place. He hoped the floor wouldn't cave out from under them or something awful like that.

The two of them pushed inside the host's room, squeezing past a number of familiar skaters lingering in the doorway. The skating community was small enough that they knew pretty much everyone in the division. Some of them had been competitors even years before in the junior leagues. A brief glance around the room revealed that not everyone was a skater. There were a fair few Draco didn't recognise at all.

Right away, he spotted Fleur and Roger, standing together in a corner, speaking to each other and ignoring the rest of the room as usual. Other familiar skaters swayed to the beat of the music on a makeshift dance floor. Pansy was snogging one of the Russian figure skaters in the center of it all.

Draco gently elbowed Hermione and pointed at Pansy. She made a gagging sound before leading them both over to the makeshift bar set up by the window. They each made themselves a mixed drink of vodka and juice before turning to face the crowd.

"Right." Draco held the plastic cup to his lips. "Your time has come, wingman. What do you—Hermione?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Hermione tip her cup nearly vertically. Her throat bobbed several times until it was clear there was no more left. She turned and made herself another drink.

Blinking, he tried to make his words and thoughts catch up with what he was seeing. "What's…? Are you okay?"

He had to wait a moment for a reply, but when Hermione turned around a moment later, full cup in hand, she offered a carefree grin. "Never been better." She took a sip of her drink this time. "Now, is there a girl you had in mind?"

This woman was going to give him whiplash. Draco raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "No, I didn't notice anyone in particular as we came in."

He watched Hermione scan the crowd, as though she knew exactly what to look for. She'd mentioned before that she knew his type, but Draco wasn't sure there was anyone here who could fulfill exactly what he was looking for.

Anyone, of course, besides the girl claiming to be his wingman.

"There," she said after a minute, nodding her head slightly toward the front of the room, where people were crowded near the doorway. "That girl. That's the one. She's been sneaking glances your way every few seconds since we came."

Draco sipped at his drink while his eyes followed the direction of Hermione's vague gesture. Sure enough, directly where she was pointing, a blonde woman was sipping something from a straw and shooting him heavy-lidded looks. The corners of her dark lips twitched upward when she noticed he was looking right at her.

If he had been younger, his stomach might have flipped. His cock might have twitched at the thought of those lips—hell, any lips—on his body.

But looking at her now, all he could think of was how much energy it would take to cross the room and begin a conversation with her. It was energy he would much prefer to not expend.

This was what Hermione wanted, though. He told himself this for what felt like the hundredth time already tonight.

"Are you going to go for it?" Hermione looked up from her drink. Draco expected to see a mischievous spark in her eye, but the smirk she offered seemed almost half-hearted.

"I suppose so. If you're going to be okay over here."

"I'm _fine_ , Draco. Go on."

Leaving Hermione to her own romantic pursuits for the evening, Draco straightened the lapels on his blazer and crossed the room in a few steps. When he approached the blond girl, she grinned up at him. She spoke at a near-shout over the pulsating music.

"I wasn't sure if you were going to make me come over there to get you."

American. Or, perhaps, Canadian? Draco wasn't sure. Their accents were so similar.

"Ah, no. I'm… here, so—" He cleared his throat and took another sip before responding at almost the top of his lungs. "Draco."

He held out his hand. The girl accepted it.

"Melanie."

"Nice to meet you, Melanie. I, er, don't recognise you. Which is strange, considering this is a skater's party."

"Oh! I'm not a skater." She let out a short, barking laugh. Draco held back a grimace. "My friend Queenie is a figure skater."

Ah, American then.

"Queenie Goldstein?"

"One and the same. She's around here somewhere, I'm sure. Probably pulled someone back to her room by now. Lucky girl."

Draco chewed on his lip and flexed his fingers around his cup. "So… if you're not a skater, then what are you—"

"Ski jumping. Team USA."

The very idea of anyone purposely flying off a ramp onto a slippery slope on skis was enough to send an unpleasant shiver right through him. To him, ski jumping was essentially inviting injury into your life. Far too risky. Someone who was a ski jumper had to be, at their very core, at least a little insane.

Draco far preferred to be on skates. Yes, there was risk of injury, but at the very least he didn't have to fling himself off a cliff at high speeds.

"Ski jumping? Very impressive." He offered a close-lipped smile. "Why that particular sport? Why not downhill skiing or slalom?"

Melanie let out another one of her barking laughs. "Those are so boring, though. I have to admit, I'm kind of an adrenaline junkie. The faster, higher, and more dangerous, the better."

He made a face.

"Not your thing, then?" She nudged him slightly with his shoulder and shot a sweet, toothy grin.

"Not particularly, no."

"Nothing wrong with playing it safe." Melanie held her hands up in defense.

"Who said anything about ice dancing being safe?" Draco thought about the trust it took to perform lifts with Hermione. About all the injuries he'd seen his friends undergo through the years. There was certainly risk associated with going out on the ice. It was just more of a calculated risk rather than suicide.

Melanie didn't seem to pay heed to the claims about his sport, instead choosing to plow on as her eyes went wide. "Oh shit, you're an ice dancer? I bet you could deadlift so much weight." Then, out of nowhere, she ran a hand up his arm and pulled the shell of his ear close to those dark lips. "I mean, I assume you could lift me pretty well."

His cock stirred in his trousers, though he wasn't sure how to feel about that.

This woman was attractive, yes. She was an ideal candidate for a hookup. Although, after only three minutes' conversation, Draco knew that she definitely wasn't his type for anything more than that.

Hermione was likely off chatting up some bloke, given her outfit of choice. Perhaps she was making similar flirtatious comments and would go back to someone's room tonight.

He was likely going to do the same, so it was fine.

It was definitely fine.

Melanie had a definite goal in mind, and Draco was content to go along with it. He allowed himself to feel the beginnings of arousal when she traced her fingers down the buttons of his shirt and even toyed with the idea of kissing her.

But even as he allowed himself to flirt back, his gut twisted at the wrongness of it all. He'd much rather be flirting with Hermione, sharing knowing smiles and tipsy laughs about something they'd seen on television last week. He'd rather wrap his hand around her familiar waistline, pull her to him, and kiss her soundly. There would be no hesitation, no wondering.

There wouldn't have to be. Because he was unquestionably in love with her.

It was such an obvious thing. He'd probably been in love with her for ages. Maybe since they were teenagers. And yet, here they were, both in their mid-twenties and flirting with different people at an Olympic party.

Life was strange.

Hermione seemed genuinely content, if not happy, with the casual arrangement they'd always had. She'd never voiced a single complaint when he'd dated other women. In fact, she practically encouraged it. When they weren't with other people, they had each other. It worked, in a weird sort of way.

So even if Draco would have wanted something different… something more, it might not have been a good idea.

Still, it didn't stop him from continuing to wonder for the briefest of moments, what it would have been like to have Hermione on his arm tonight. They would be dancing now. Somehow, they always ended up dancing. He'd grab her arse, not caring who saw it. She'd grind up against him. She always liked doing that.

Then, when he couldn't stand it anymore, he'd find a dark corner. Or they'd make a break for it back to one of their rooms through the cold, Russian winter, stopping to snog each other senseless at least twice before they made it to a bed.

It was a welcome thought. Draco smiled into his plastic cup as he took another sip.

"—are you even listening?"

Draco inhaled suddenly from his nose as his head snapped up. "Huh?"

"I asked if this is your first time out of the country. It's mine."

"Hm? Oh, no. It's not." Draco's vision swam back into focus as his vision faded into the back of his mind. Curiosity getting the better of him, he glanced back across the room to the drink table, where he had last seen Hermione. She likely wasn't still there, but he wanted to check on her.

As Melanie began to describe her first international flight in excruciating detail, Draco's eyes scanned the area. He found her within seconds. She wasn't hard to spot. He knew her silhouette anywhere.

What he didn't expect was to see her alone, standing in the same empty corner where he left her. There was no bloke to be seen. No flirtatious smiles or coy looks. She didn't even look like she was having a good time. Hermione was leaning against the wall, arms around her middle. Even across the room, he could see that her eyes were slightly glazed over. She looked like the picture of misery.

He watched as she reached over to the drink table, poured herself a shot of vodka, and tipped her head back to down it in one.

How many drinks had she had by now?

He should have been paying better attention.

Even as Melanie continued to talk, Draco felt his attention toward her waning. Any trace of arousal had disappeared, and instead, was replaced with a growing sense of worry in his stomach. All the while, Hermione stood by herself in the corner.

"Listen," he said when he couldn't divide his attention any longer. "I need to go check on someone."

Melanie raised an eyebrow and glanced just past his shoulder. "Is it that girl you came in with?"

Draco nodded. "She's all alone and I… she shouldn't be. It's been nice talking. But whatever you wanted to start, it's not going to happen. I'm sorry."

Then, before he could catch her reaction, he turned on his heel and made his way back toward the drink table. Hermione didn't look up at him until he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Hey." His voice was soft in her ear, despite the loud music all around them. "What's going on? Why are you over here all by yourself?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm just not feeling this party."

Draco's brow furrowed. She had been so excited to get dressed up for tonight. That couldn't be right.

"Are you okay?" he pressed, his hand landing on the familiar spot along her mid-back.

She sighed and offered a smile. "I'm fine, Draco."

He looked down at her, and even though her lips were turned upward, her eyes were almost dead. Dull. Miserable-looking.

"I don't buy that for one second, Hermione. You're not fine."

"I _am_ fine, Draco. Please don't push it."

"But you're clearly not. You've had way more to drink that you normally would. I'm… worried. Did something happen?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped. She closed her eyes, as if exasperated. "Not exactly, but… please, Draco. Drop it. Shouldn't you be off with that girl?" She gestured vaguely across the room. Draco glanced briefly over his shoulder. Melanie was already flirting with someone new, which suited him just fine.

"Wasn't interested in her. She's a fucking ski jumper. No thanks to that."

Hermione chuckled slightly before returning to her grimace. "Are you going to find someone else, then?"

Draco paused, trying to read Hermione's body language and tone. He honestly had no interest in finding someone else. He'd thought it so many times tonight already.

But Hermione… she wouldn't have asked again if she didn't want him to find someone. That's what she wanted.

And if that's what she wanted…

"Not sure. Maybe?"

Hermione wrinkled her nose and reached for another shot. Draco watched as she drank it down like it was water.

"Hermione, there is no way you're okay. I mean… since when do you drink this much?"

She shrugged. "I just feel like it."

"There's no way that's true. I know you. Something's wrong."

"I'm fine, Draco."

"No you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"Except you definitely aren't."

Hermione let out a small growl of frustration. "Ugh. Look. That was my last one. Honestly, I'm just tired. I thought this party was going to be fun, but I just want to go back to my room and sleep."

Draco wasn't sure why those words stung, but they felt sharp as they hit him. So he was supposed to just stay here and flirt with random, nameless girls while she abandoned him?

That just didn't sit right.

Hermione threw her plastic cup in a nearby rubbish bin and headed toward the door. He watched as she stumbled a bit, clearly tipsy.

This didn't sit right at all.

Draco followed just behind her. He stayed a couple meters behind, all the way through this dormitory, down a flight of stairs, and out into the cold night. There was no way he was going to let Hermione walk back to her room alone and drunk in an unfamiliar place.

Hermione, it seemed, did not agree with his judgement.

"Go back to the party, Draco." She strode past the half-constructed topiaries and sidewalks, nose in the air. The only thing colder than her tone was the wind whistling past their faces, nearly chafing the skin.

"I don't want to go back to that damn party," he shouted without meaning to, still not acclimated to the quiet. "I want to make sure you get home safely."

"You really don't have to do that." Hermione kept marching, vapour pouring from her nose and mouth with each breath she took. "I'm fine, honestly."

"No, you're not."

"Stop saying that!" she snapped as she reached their building, throwing the door open and stomping inside.

"Why should I stop? You're clearly upset by something." He kept pursuing her down the corridor, the gap between them closing with each long step he took. "Was it someone at that party? Did someone say something? Do something?"

"No, no it's not that."

Hermione walked right past the elevator and pushed the door to the stairwell open instead.

Draco was a meter behind her as they climbed. First floor. Second. Third.

"Then was it me?" His voice echoed against the concrete and brick.

Fourth floor.

"Of-of course not. You could never—"

"Then what is it?"

Fifth floor. Hermione pushed the exit open. Her room was just a few paces to the left.

"It's nothing, Draco."

"Bullshit."

They were practically hissing under their breath now. Unlike the other building, this one rang with the sound of silence, and Draco didn't want anyone waking up and coming out to the corridor.

Outside Hermione's room, they came to an abrupt stop. Hermione turned, her back facing the door. Draco stepped closer. He was only a handful of centimeters away now.

"Please drop it." The look of misery was back in Hermione's face. It made his heart ache. Why wouldn't she just let him in? She always had before. Even in the darkest, saddest moments of her life, he'd been there. Had something changed?

He reached for her hand. "Hermione, just talk to me. I want to help you. Whatever it is."

"You can't." She swallowed, looking down at her toes.

"I can try."

"No, you can't."

"How do you know unless you tell me?"

"I just can't, okay."

"Stop saying that you can't. You're Hermione Granger. You can do anything. I've seen it."

"Can you just stop, okay? Stop talking about me like that." Hermione's head snapped up. Her eyes were full of furious tears.

Draco furrowed his brows. "Stop talking about you like what?"

"Like I'm that special. Like I can do anything, when I definitely can't."

Squeezing her hand, Draco pressed her. "What on earth are you talking about, Hermione? Where's this coming from? I just want to know why you're so upset."

Hermione tore her hand away from his, her teary eyes suddenly filled with fiery anger. "I'm upset," she hissed, "because I'm in love with you, alright?" Then, her eyes grew wide and she abruptly turned away from him to face the blank expanse of the door.

Draco froze. All the oxygen in his body immediately disappeared, leaving his brain to stall. He watched her profile; her eyes squeezed tightly shut as her lip quivered. Her chest heaved with each shuddering breath.

After several seconds, she spoke again, her words came out so quietly, Draco almost had to strain his ears to hear them.

" _I'm in love with you."_

Draco blinked, unsure of what he just heard. "You're…" He licked his lips, eyes trained on her. "You're in love with me?"

Hermione turned around once more, eyes flooded with tears and fists clenched at her side. "That's what I said, didn't I? I'm in love with you and I can't stand to see you talking to all those other girls anymore!"

The two marinated in the slow silence that followed. Draco tried to speak, but it was as though his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. Hermione turned more and more pink with each passing second.

And then, without warning, she fled. Before he could even think to move, she'd pulled out her room key, jammed it in the slot, pulled the door open, and slammed it shut as soon as she slipped inside.

Now it was his turn to stare at the blank expanse of the wooden door.

The moment it was closed, his tongue became unstuck and a million words he wanted to say came flooding into his mind.

He opened his mouth to speak—to say something, but as the very first sound left his throat, he heard Hermione crying on the other side of the door.

This wasn't a soft cry, either. He heard gut-wrenching sobs cross through the barrier as her breath caught in her throat.

It was the kind of crying that made Draco want to cry, himself.

She loved him.

She was _in love_ with him.

He wasn't sure whether to cry or grin.

Sure, this wasn't the way he wanted it to happen, but _she was in love with him._

"Hermione, will you please open up?" His voice came out as a croak. She didn't respond and the door didn't budge.

Draco wished he could bask in the moment. Wished it had happened any other way. He wanted to say it back to her right now, to offer her comfort, but he didn't want his first time saying it to be through a door. He wanted to see the look in her eyes. Wanted her to be smiling when she heard it.

_I'm in love with you, too._

"God, I'm such an idiot." Hermione's voice came from behind the door. It broke Draco out of his short daydream. She sounded like she was talking to herself.

"You're not an idiot," he offered through the wood. "Far from it, in fact."

"Just forget I said anything, okay? I… I shouldn't have." Though her voice was muffled, her words came through clear.

Draco stepped closer until his palm lay flat against the surface of the door. Judging by where her voice was coming from, he was certain she was standing just on the other side.

"Forget you said anything? Hermione, why?"

"We just… we wouldn't work. That's why."

All of the reasons he'd told himself before flashed across his mind.

_The two of them were professional partners._

_The gossip columns would have a field day and their privacy would go out the window._

_She wanted him to be with other women. Liked to keep it casual._

Clearly, that last one wasn't true. At least it wasn't anymore.

Draco needed to know what she was thinking. He refused to accept her answer at surface value. So he pressed.

"But why, though? Why wouldn't we work?"

He expected to hear his own thinking parroted back to him. That there were professional boundaries they shouldn't cross. That fans would never leave them alone if they were actually together.

But what Hermione actually said hit him like a train he didn't see coming.

"Why wouldn't we work?" He thought he heard Hermione scoff. "Draco, it's obvious, isn't it? You're you. And I'm… me."

Draco blinked. "Hermione, I don't… what? You're… of course you're you. That's why I love you." The words slipped from his mouth so easily, he hardly realised he'd spoken them before they were out in the open air.

There was a long pause. Draco kept his eyes trained on the door. In his mind's eye, he saw it flying open. He saw Hermione launching himself into his arms, kissing him soundly and heard her whispering sweet words in his ear.

In reality, the door didn't budge, and Draco felt heat creep up his neck instead. When Hermione finally spoke, they weren't the sweet words he had hoped for. They were the opposite, really.

"You can't love me, Draco. I'm not the kind of girl you deserve."

"Deserve? Hermione, who said anything about deserving—"

"I'm… I'm unexceptional. And you deserve someone extraordinary."

Although Draco heard her words, they still didn't make sense. What on earth was she talking about?

"How did you come to some sort of crazy conclusion like that? That you're unexceptional? Hermione, you're… you're beyond wonderful."

"Tell that to your father."

Ice immediately filled Draco's veins at the mention of the man. How was Lucius Malfoy still managing to make his life a living hell after all these years? Always, when he least expected it, the man would crop up and make himself known in the worst of ways. He was supposed to be free of his father. He'd been independent for so long. So how was it possible for the man to still be ruining his life?

Draco balled his hands into fists at his side, ready to punch anything solid. Hell, he'd punch the door if he had to. He wanted to yell at the solid wood. Demand to know exactly what his father had said and when. It took all his self-restraint to clench his jaw and grit the words out between grinding teeth.

"What did he say to you, Hermione? I saw him speaking with you at the Summer Olympics but I've never seen him talk to you before then."

He heard her sniff and braced for the worst. After all, if there was anyone who knew what his father was capable of, it was him.

"When we were young, twelve years-old I think—" Hermione sniffed again. "—your father cornered me at your house and told me that I needed to watch my back. That I was nothing without you. He called me common, unexceptional, and easily replaceable." She paused to take a breath. Even through the door, he could hear that her breathing was laboured, almost as though she'd been running even though she was standing still. "And something about his words stuck with me. Every time I saw him after that, he saw fit to remind me of just how much I didn't deserve to be your partner or how easily he could find someone different… someone _better_ , if I didn't shape up properly.

"That's what you saw him doing at that Olympic Gala—that conversation Harry rescued me from. Your father cornered me and started berating me for trying to make a name for myself. He was all too happy to remind me what could happen if he played the right cards among his social circles."

By now, Draco's blood was boiling. He was going to kill his father. Rip him apart limb from limb.

"And you believed him?" Draco whispered. "For all these years, you believed him? Hermione, my father may be an evil bastard, but he's full of shit."

"But I didn't know that when we were twelve," Hermione interjected. "And when people say things like that to you, they don't just go away."

As quickly as rage flowed from him, it ebbed once more. His emotions were in the midst of a tempest, being tossed freely from anger to sadness and back again.

There was so much about Hermione that he didn't know. And that seed of a thought terrified him.

"I see now that maybe I was wrong. That maybe your father was full of shit all these years. But even still, I don't think we could be together. Not in the way people normally are. Not romantically. I just…" Through the door, Draco heard her crying. He dragged his fingertips along the wooden grain, as though somehow he'd be able to dig his way through to her.

"Even if we loved each other and I was good enough… Things like that… they end. They always do. It's inevitable. One way or another, people leave you. And then you're alone. And I've seen what being alone after that does to a person. And Draco… I don't think I could do it. Not after..."

Draco's mind stirred with confusion. People always left? Things always ended? What did she mean by that? He strained in his memory, trying to figure out what she was referencing.

When his mind flashed to those dreadful months all those years ago, right after Dr. Granger passed, surely, he thought, that couldn't be it.

And yet…

How many times had he sat on the couch with Hermione in her home and watched her shoot glances at the stairs? He knew what she was watching for. After the funeral, Hermione's mum hardly got out of bed for weeks. When she did, it was as though all the life had been drained from her. Even when she managed to start getting dressed and going back to work, she tired easily and hardly ever smiled.

Losing her husband nearly took her away from Hermione, too. And if Draco was hearing correctly, that was Hermione's worry now.

"Hermione." He spoke in his softest voice. "Is this… about what happened when your dad died?"

Another sniff.

And then a click.

The door opened a fraction. Hermione's tear-streaked face appeared in the gap. She looked up at him, and the sadness in her eyes made him want to take her into his arms and hold her as long as she needed. When she opened the door enough to let him in, that's exactly what he intended to do. He slipped inside, ready to bring her close.

Her arms were wrapped around her middle, and she looked as though she was seconds away from crying again. But the moment he was inside with the door shut, Hermione backed away past the tiny foyer and sat at the foot of her bed.

Draco followed tentatively, choosing to stand nearby instead of joining her. Somehow, he had a feeling that's what she wanted.

Then he waited. This was her story to tell. He could wait for as long as she needed.

"When Dad died, I realised I didn't want to get my heart involved with someone like that. I saw what it did to my mum. How she fell apart." Hermione sniffled but her story never wavered.

"She's never been the same, you know. Even now. And so I promised myself that I wouldn't fall for you. I _promised_ myself. But you were there for me in ways I didn't know I needed. For months and months, you stayed by my side. You even stopped skating for a while. Were willing to forfeit that season for my sake if I needed it." She looked up at him for a brief moment, and in her eyes, Draco saw her love so plainly. Yet, there was also pain. Indescribable pain like he hadn't seen there in years.

"You… you were so selfless. So giving and caring, and I knew I could never be there for you that way. Not without falling for you."

Hermione paused again and wiped stray tears from her eyes. She shivered. Draco could see goosebumps crawling up her arms. He wanted to reach for a blanket or a jumper and drape it over her, but instinct told him to stay rooted to the spot. He hung on every word she said, waiting for a drop of hope.

None came.

Draco knew he should stay silent and keep listening, but the question burst from him before he could stop himself. "If you were so determined to distance yourself from me, why did you even start this with me in the first place?"

Hermione froze. He watched as a shiver traveled through her. She stiffened and licked her lips and looked down at her feet.

"I knew I needed to thank you somehow. But words never seemed enough. I wanted it to be something special. Something you'd never forget. And then… Severus brought Remus to that practice."

Somehow, Draco knew what she was going to say next before she said it. He dreaded each word. Because if he was right, he knew how this particular story ended. And if what Hermione was saying was actually true, it might make him sick to his stomach.

"I wanted to thank you. To do something for you. And… what do teenage boys want more than anything?"

More flashes in his mind.

" _Do you want to have sex with me?"_

He remembered spitting out his water. He remembered soft, hesitant touches. He remembered how full he'd felt in every way possible. And then she'd thanked him. It had thrown him off a bit at the time, but that night still meant the world to him.

Had it all really been that meaningless to her?

"That first time you asked me to have sex. Was that all it was to you?" Draco heard himself speak in a cold tone he hadn't used in years. "A transaction? 'Draco was kind to me so I should sleep with him to repay him?' Was it?"

He watched as Hermione bit her lip and fidgeted with her thumbs in her lap. She continued to look down at her shoes. "I'm not sure, to be honest. It's a little mixed up in my head."

"What about every other time? Do you feel mixed up about those, too?" Draco felt tears of his own burning in the back of his eyes. He kept them trained on the ceiling for a moment to stem the flow.

"I didn't. I—" Another sniff.

"Did. It ever. Mean something to you?" Draco interjected. He could feel anger rising within him again, and he hated every second.

"Of _course_ it did." Hermione's voice wobbled, and he could tell she had looked up from the ground. "Whenever I was with you. Whenever I _am_ with you, it's like coming home. Like I'm exactly where I need to be."

Draco's heart clenched, listening to the words he'd been longing to hear for ages. He'd felt the exact same thing, but there was always something pushing them away. Keeping them apart. Telling him that they should date other people and keep it casual.

And so…

"Hermione?" He looked at her again as well, suddenly not caring if he started to cry. "If being with me felt like coming home, then why were you okay with me dating other women? Why did it seem like that's what you wanted?" He took a deep breath. " _Was_ that what you wanted?"

Hermione shook her head. "I… I don't know. I guess I thought that you'd be better off with them. Better off with someone who could give you what you needed."

Draco crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. "How could you know what I needed?"

His body prickled with annoyance when she breathed a small laugh and looked back at her shoes. "Shorter. Athletic. Talkative. Travels in lots of social circles. Kind. Puts up with your drama. Great tits. I know what kind of girl you need, Draco."

"Clearly, you don't know me very well, Hermione. Because all those other criteria can fuck off. The only girl I've ever needed is you. And now you're telling me that you thought I needed someone else?" Draco ran a hand through his hair as he tried to keep his tongue from tying in knots. "Hermione, every time I dated another woman—Millicent, Astoria, all the others—they _paled_ in comparison to you. If I'd even had the slightest inkling that you felt this way about me, then I wouldn't have dated them. At all."

He could see in her eyes that she didn't believe him. That she still thought he wouldn't have picked her. _Shouldn't_ have picked her.

"How long have you felt this way?" he pressed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Because I've known I loved you for you for a long time."

She swallowed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's been a while, I think."

He began to pace. To the door. Turn around. Walk back to the bed. Repeat. As he walked, the gears in his brain creaked into life. Something about this whole situation rubbed him the wrong way. He should have been celebrating and kissing Hermione with abandon at the news that she loved him. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. That he was missing a key bit of information.

To the door. Turn around. Walk to the bed. Repeat.

Hermione was breathing heavily. Was she nervous? It wasn't like they were in different boats. They'd both dated. They'd both hidden their feelings from each other. If anything, it should have been amusing. A funny misunderstanding, even. But Hermione's nerves were stealing every last drop of good humour he had. For some reason, he felt on edge.

He needed more information. That was it. Knowing more, he was certain he'd feel better.

"I have a question," he piped up after his eighth trip around the room. "If you knew you were… in love with me—God, that's so strange to say." He closed his eyes and shook his head, as though the action would somehow make all his thoughts fall into place. "If you knew you were in love with me, then why did you date Viktor and pursue Potter? Maybe Weasley, too? I could never quite tell with the two of you."

The look on her face as he spoke grew more and more confused. The creases in her brow became increasingly furrowed as her frown grew deeper until she looked as though she genuinely had no idea what he was talking about.

The look made his stomach sour a little.

"I'm sorry." Hermione licked her lips. "I don't—I'm not sure what you're talking about."

Draco cocked his head. "Viktor? Your physical therapist? You spent all that time with him and one of your dates went terribly wrong?"

He watched as recognition flashed in her eyes, but she didn't say anything.

"Then there was Potter. Now _that_ was a double date from hell. Did you ever see him again after that?"

Still nothing from Hermione. The annoyance had grown to actual upset by this point. He wanted her to say something. Anything.

"And I saw the way Weasley was always looking at you. How the two of you flirted. I always had strong suspicions there was something going on there." He paused to raise his eyebrows. "Was I right?

Hermione's face had gone beet red. She was chewing her lip again. Her breathing was still heavy.

Still, nothing.

"Hermione, come on. You can tell me these things. I'm completely fine to tell you about everyone I've been with. It's nothing to be ashamed of." He made a point to hold out his hand. "It's honestly not that many. There's Millicent and Astoria. You knew about them, of course. I think you might remember… I think her name was Tracey? Yeah. She stayed for a very awkward breakfast. Then there were a couple of girls who you didn't meet. But that's it." He held out his hand, flexing all five fingers. "All on one hand. See? That's not so bad. You can tell me."

He sat beside her on the bed and patted her knee.

Hermione turned her head slightly toward him, taking the smallest glance his way before looking at her shoes once more. A flush even darker than the last was making its way up her face.

"There's nothing to tell, Draco. Honestly."

He patted her knee again. "Nothing? At all?" She shook her head. "Do you not trust me?"

"It's not that."

"Well then, what is it?"

"It's just I—" She scrunched up her face then exhaled. "I didn't date any of them. Viktor, Harry, Ron… none of them."

The silence that followed gave room for confusion to take root in Draco's chest. He tried to reach back into his memory to all the times Hermione left to see Viktor with a large grin on her face. He thought about how much she'd liked Potter. She hadn't been able to stop talking about him for weeks, and he knew for a fact that she still texted him regularly. And then there was Weasley. He'd seen them chatting for years. It was obvious how the redhead felt about Hermione. The man was not particularly subtle. Hermione had definitely gone to visit him on a handful of occasions. He'd seen 'Weasley' highlighted in her daily planner before.

Yet Hermione was now claiming that she didn't date any of them. It seemed almost absurd.

"None of them?" he clarified, adjusting his body so he turned to face her on the edge of the bed.

She shook her head. "Viktor was my physical therapist. He was always incredibly professional. The one day we spent together was on my birthday. You remember?"

How could he not? It was the second time he'd ever had sex with Hermione.

In fact, at the time, it had felt much more like they were making love. And that, in a way, made it feel his real first time.

She'd come home crying from her… _not_ date and he'd offered her comfort.

"That night, out at a bar, I heard a song that reminded me of my dad. I just sort of… broke down in front of him and left. I came looking for you. Because I needed you."

He remembered the tears streaming down her face. The way she'd been so desperately sad.

"And somehow, I thought that time would be different. It felt different than the first time. When it was over, I didn't want it to end. Didn't want _us_ to end." She sighed and turned her head away. "But after, it was clear you just wanted comfort after your breakup with Millie."

Draco turned cold as ice. He tried to recall what he'd said or done to make her think that way.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I don't remember. What did I—?"

"You thanked me." Hermione let out a hollow laugh. "Like I'd just done you a favour. Or helped you out. And it just confirmed what I already suspected. That I was your friend. And you liked having sex with me. But I wasn't the kind of girl you would love. That I really was what you called me all those years ago. What your father still calls me. A _nobody_."

Draco tried to find words, but none came. His lungs had frozen, as had his throat. His hands shook with the effort it took not to jump to his feet and scream into the night about all this madness. He remembered with increasing horror, the awful things he'd once screamed at her without really meaning them.

" _Hermione, you're a nobody. You come from a family of nobodies."_

He hadn't meant those words. Hadn't meant them at all. He thought they'd moved on from that after he apologised. After her dad died and he stuck by her side.

But to think that his father had been saying those kinds of things to her for years? It was unimaginable, the amount of pain he must have caused her with those thoughtless words.

Guilt clawed at his insides, but there was no time to process it, because Hermione pressed on.

"And Harry?" She continued, shaking her head. "What I have with Harry is nothing but friendship. Two years ago we were talking so much because he wanted me to set him up with Ginny Weasley. They've been dating almost ever since then. I thought you knew."

Draco was going to be sick.

"And Ron? Draco, I barely speak to Ron. All those _Weasleys_ in my planner were reminders to call _Ginny_. We chat every couple weeks because Ginny said she wanted someone to have girl talk with."

Hermione reached for his hand. It felt hot against his own clammy fingers. She ducked down until their eyes met. They were still melancholy, but they were also determined.

"There has never been anyone else for me. No one night stands. I can't count my encounters on my fingers because it would only ever be just the one. It's only ever been you. Just you. And I'm tired of denying what I feel for you. I was so scared for so long. Scared of losing you. Scared of what would happen when it inevitably happened. But I'm not scared anymore, Draco. Telling you the truth is more important."

Words spilled from Hermione's mouth, and it was as though the room was now flooded with years of secrets and Draco was drowning. He fought to keep his head above water, but was barely hanging on. He couldn't breathe. His lungs felt tight.

There had been no one else?

Ever?

Still, he found he couldn't speak.

"And I know," Hermione gulped and squeezed his hand. He didn't squeeze back. Couldn't. "I knew at the time that you thought I was dating Viktor. That you thought I was dating Harry. I saw the way you interpreted my words. I just… didn't bother to correct you because I thought it would be easier that way. Easier for you to move on from me. Easier for me not to get hurt. And for that, I'm sorry. I should have been honest with you."

She stroked her thumb against the back of his hand, and Draco immediately felt an ice-cold chill run down his spine. From that chill, something new began to bubble in his stomach. Something akin to rage. The ice inside him gave way to fire that licked at every inch of him, scorching a path up his torso until his jaw clenched and his temple pulsed.

"Sorry?" Draco bit out. "You lied to me for years and you're _sorry?"_

He wanted to scream. Wanted to cry. Wanted to pick up the books on her nightstand and lob them across the room until they broke something.

Draco ripped his hand away from Hermione's and stood, raking his fingers across his face as his breathing grew shallow and ragged. A cacophony of emotions swirled inside him. Anger, for being lied to. Relief that she'd never loved another. And yet, at the same time, guilt and shame for feeling like somehow he'd betrayed her by filling his bed with multiple women when she'd been pining in silence. Guilt for ever making her feel like she was a nobody. Like she was unloved.

On top of it all, confusion. Because what he thought to be true for years had turned out to be a big lie.

He'd wanted Hermione. Loved her. Wanted to be with her. _For years._

It wasn't fair.

It just wasn't fair.

He began to pace again.

To the door. Turn around. Walk back to the bed. Repeat.

"Please, Draco," she mumbled after his fifth loop. "I just want to make things right. I just… I love you."

Draco froze, lifting a finger and pursing his lips as he searched for the right words. "You… you don't get to say that, Hermione."

"Say what?" She furrowed her brow.

"That you love me!" he cried, turning to face her. "That you've, what? Been in love with me for years and just… couldn't tell me?"

Hermione faltered, opening and closing her mouth several times. For some reason, this only irritated Draco more.

"I'm angry at you, you know that, right? You encouraged me to be with other women when I didn't really want it. When who I wanted was you and you made it abundantly clear that wasn't going to happen. So I went for it. I dated around. I've been with women that I really didn't care about. It wasn't fair to them. Hell, it wasn't fair to me either."

On the edge of the bed, Hermione seemed to shrink in on herself. Her hands were gripping her knees so tightly he could see her nails dig into her skin.

"And do you know why else I'm angry?" Draco continued to pace as he ranted. "I'm angry at myself because you apparently loved me this whole time and I just couldn't see it. I didn't notice." He paused in front of the bed and rubbed his face in his hands. "It should have been obvious, Hermione. You've been my best friend for nearly thirteen years and I should have seen it."

He yelled the last few words at the blank expanse of wall beside the bed before drawing back his fist and punching. His hand went right through the plaster. It stung, but he didn't care.

When he turned around, Hermione had jumped to her feet, concern in her eyes. Draco could see that she wanted to rush over and examine his hand. And she normally would have. But right now, she hung back.

"You lied to me, Hermione. You lied. For years."

"I didn't. I swear!" She was crying in earnest now. "At least, not on purpose."

"But lying by omission is still lying, isn't it?" Draco felt hot tears of his own spilling down his cheeks and dripping onto the plaster-covered floor.

When Hermione didn't respond, he kept going.

"You let me think you were dating so I would pursue other women? What, because you thought you weren't good enough? Because of something my father said? Is that why?"

Hermione sniffed. "I know it sounds stupid—"

"Because it _is_ stupid, Hermione! I mean… How could you?"

"I'm sorry, Draco! I'm so, so sorry. Your father's words… my own insecurities…. They just took hold and wouldn't let me go. I never meant to hurt you." Hermione buried her face in her hands and sank back on to the bed, tears coming in earnest now. He was crying, too.

They stood there, a meter apart, miserable. For how long, Draco wasn't sure. A part of him wanted to cross the space between them, wrap his arms around Hermione, and kiss her. He wanted to reassure her that it would all be okay. That they'd figure out.

But every time he tried, it was as though the solid ground they'd always stood on together had crumbled beneath their feet. Where there had once been trust now sat a pile of ash.

Everything he knew about his relationship Hermione was a lie.

She said she loved him. Was _in love_ with him. But how could someone who loved him lie like that? For years?

He didn't want to say something rash. Their hearts were already shattered enough. It was better to walk away before any more damage could be done to either of them.

Wiping the tears from his face with the back of his sleeve, Draco straightened up and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. He tried to keep a straight face as he forced words from his lips.

"I can't do this anymore." He shook his head. "I just can't. Hermione, whatever we've been… whatever we've done… let's just stop. Let's just do what we do well. Let's just be skating partners." His chest practically collapsed in on itself as he spoke. It was as though someone had placed a lead weight inside of him. Each word was harder than the last to say. He needed to go. Get out of there. He needed to be alone. Away from her. Away from everything.

He wiped his nose and steeled his expression once more.

"I… I think I need to go, Hermione. I'm gonna get some sleep. You should, too. We've got—" He cleared his throat as a sob built back up. "We've got a run-through tomorrow morning and I want to make sure we're ready.

Hermione's eyes were shining with tears when she looked up at him from her spot at the edge of the bed. She looked as though she wanted to say something, but after opening her mouth, she closed it again and simply nodded.

"Goodnight, then." Not waiting for her to reply, Draco turned on his heel and strode toward the door. He managed to make it down one floor and into his own room before sinking onto the floor in a pile of messy sobs.

~*~*~*~

Three days passed before they spoke a word to each other. Draco avoided her at mealtimes, choosing to sit alone rather than join Hermione with the other skaters. During rehearsals in the days before they performed, they ran through their routine with a stoicism not seen in their skating for years. Severus, as he was insisting they call him now that they were actual adults, was practically banging his head against the wall by the end of several run-throughs. He'd run out of things to yell at them about.

"Where's the pair you were two months ago?" he demanded when they messed up their twizzle sequence for the third time. "Did you leave yourselves in Japan? This is utterly ridiculous."

"I'm sorry," Hermione moaned. "I just… I don't feel well, is all."

An impressive lie, but Draco wouldn't put it past Severus to see right through it.

"Then go to bed early and pull yourself together." Severus pinched the bridge of his nose as they took their positions in the center of the ice once more. "This is the Olympics we're talking about! This might be your only shot and the two of you are blowing it! Is this what all those years of training were for?"

The music started again, slow and melancholy.

Draco did his best to push all thoughts of Hermione's confession away as he skated. They were at the Olympics as professionals, so that's exactly what he would be. He didn't need to be her lover to get on the podium. He didn't even need to be her friend to win a gold medal.

They just had to be partners.

They just had to get through the Olympics.

Then they could talk. Properly. Somehow. He didn't even know how to start that conversation. What would he say? What would she say in return?

The prospect of it all shot his nerves to hell.

Was this seriously what they had come to? After thirteen years together of training constantly, putting themselves through physical, mental, and emotional stress, was it really all going to come to a head like this, here, at the Olympics of all places?

The unfairness of it all didn't sink in until they day they were set to start competing. Draco rolled out of his lumpy camp bed and trudged over to the attached bathroom. A small mirror hung lopsided over a sink that, although it was supposed to be brand new, actually had several chips in it already. Draco stared at his reflection, soaking in the bags under his eyes that hadn't been there before his fight with Hermione.

And of course, it all looked worse, because whoever had designed this damn building hung a singular yellow lightbulb right over the sink. It swayed as Draco gripped the broken sink, creating harrowing shadows across his face.

He'd pictured this day a thousand times over in his dreams. The day he'd finally get to compete in the Olympics. It had been perfect in his mind. In his dreams, he'd always woken up with confidence, strode right over to the arena, and skated his heart out until the judges gave him record-breaking scores. He'd always believed these would be the best days of his life.

But looking around at this shitty bathroom in this shitty building, knowing that he'd take to the ice in a matter of hours with a partner he'd never felt less connected to, Draco had a hunch that today was likely to be up there among the worst.

Splashing cold water on his face, tried to tell himself otherwise.

All morning, as they waited to compete, Draco sat backstage in tense silence beside Hermione. There was so much that needed to be said, but every time he thought about trying to say something, a nearly impenetrable wall of nerves shot up in front of him.

They'd been waiting years to get this moment, and Draco would be damned if he ruined it by starting another confrontation just before they got out on the ice.

So he waited. In silence.

So did she.

It was as though he was teetering on a ledge, surrounded on all sides by a steep drop. One push, and he'd make a decision. But whether he'd plummet to his death or catch a breeze and soar was yet to be seen.

Somehow, miraculously, they managed to pull off a solid performance for their short dance. With a score of 77.4, they sat just a fraction of a point behind Fleur and Roger as they headed into the free dance.

Draco continued to stew in silence in the twenty-four hours between performances. He wanted to maintain equilibrium until after the Olympics. He wanted to get through their free dance performance, whatever it would bring. Then he would decide what he wanted to do.

He just had to remember to breathe.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Make it through the next breath. The next second. The next minute or hour or day.

Then he'd know what to do.

It was all going to be okay. Everything was passing by just like any normal competition. Hermione was beautiful in her petal pink costume. Her face looked rather green, despite already vomiting this morning.

Part of him was glad. The vindictive side of him. Let her feel sick as she sat with the mental anguish she'd put him through. Put them both through.

But no. He couldn't think about that. Not when they were about to skate in front of millions.

Breathe in. Breathe out. His nerves were sitting at an acceptable level as they waited just backstage for Fleur and Roger to finish their performance.

They were going to make it through.

At the three-minute mark when Severus poked his head through the door, he made his way over to Hermione. No matter what their personal issues were, they had to smile for the cameras.

He held out his hand.

"We've got this," he whispered in her ear as they carefully made their way to the side of the rink. "We just have to perform like we did at the Grand Prix."

He felt her nod.

The roar of the crowd filled his ears as he removed the covers from his skates. He was vaguely aware as he congratulated Fleur and Roger on their way to the Kiss and Cry station. Severus gave them a brief pep talk that only made his nerves sharper.

He was ready to go. His whole body vibrated with energy.

And then he and Hermione began their pre-skate routine.

When she placed her ear beside his heart, Draco thought for one brief, horrifying moment that he might cry again, because this felt right. This felt like coming home.

But he couldn't think about that. Not now. No matter how much he wanted to.

"It's just us out there," he heard himself whisper.

"Just us."

Normally, those were the last words they spoke before they entered the rink. Those were the only words they needed. It came as a shock, then, when Hermione looked up at him, eyes shining with desperation. "Listen, I want to say something, Draco."

"No," he hissed, his stomach roiling. "It's not the time."

It really wasn't. He was terrified of what he might do. How he might react. This was the most important skate of their lives.

"But I need to say it," she insisted. "I need to apologise."

He should have been annoyed or angry. He should have told her off. Pushed her to bring this up later. But at that moment, he just couldn't. The look on her face was so earnest. And seeing her here, like this in his arms, there was only one singular fact that was abundantly clear:

He was in love with Hermione.

He was in love with her, and after today, win or lose, he was going to make it all right. Professional partnership be damned. His heart stuttered in his chest as his icy resolve melted away.

The teetering finally stopped and Draco found himself falling. Where he would land was yet to be seen, but this was a day for the greatest of risks.

He rested his chin atop her head. "And I want to hear it. But not now. Now we need to focus."

"I just—" She moved her hands so her fingers were splayed on his chest. "I just want to get it all out on the table."

Draco blinked as the chattering and cheering of the crowd filled his ears once more. It was as though the little bubble they'd been standing in had popped and the outside world could filter in once more. As much emotional weight as the moment carried, he couldn't get sucked into it.

"Now?" Draco drew back slightly. "Hermione, we're about to skate."

"I know." Hermione gave a little sniffle and Draco felt his innards turn to lead. This was not good. She couldn't go out on the ice in tears. He had to fix this _now._

"Look at me, Hermione," he whispered, moving his hand to cup her jaw. She obeyed, her chin lifting. When he saw her eyes, they were swimming with tears. "Let's talk. I promise we'll talk. After, though. Let's go out there, skate our best, and then we'll talk all night if you like."

Hermione nodded in return, taking deep, calming breaths.

"All night?"

"All night. Just like when we were kids."

This brought a watery smile to Hermione's face. He carefully wiped her tears away as she took steadying breaths.

"Right." Severus held the barrier to the rink open for their grand entrance. "Let's go."

It was time.

Disaster.

Nothing short of utter disaster.

They'd placed eighth.

'A Shocking Disappointment.'

That's what articles and reports had called it. Draco hadn't been able to read a newspaper or watch the television for days. The press was in an absolute frenzy for the first twenty-four hours after the competition ended. He and Hermione sat at a table, faced with various British reporters, and answered the same questions over and over again.

Yes, they were sad.

No, they weren't sure what came next.

No, they weren't sure what went wrong.

That was the answer they told reporters, but Draco knew.

From the moment he dropped Hermione, he knew.

He knew that it was entirely his fault. It was his responsibility to keep Hermione safe and hold her steady. _His_ responsibility. He'd never dropped her before. Never. When they started doing lifts, he'd sworn to himself that he'd never let her fall.

His fumble had cost them their moment of Olympic glory.

It had been a few days since the incident, and the very thought of it all was enough to send him spiraling for hours, wrapped in his bedsheets. He hardly came out of his room to eat and stopped going to Olympic events entirely.

Based on what he heard through the grapevine from Pansy, Hermione was doing the same.

At least she hadn't had to spend the rest of the Olympics in hospital. That fall could have seriously injured her, and it was only by some divine miracle that she only had a large bruise on her bum.

Not that he'd seen it. Severus had informed him after a long hour spent pacing outside her examination room. The moment they'd been awarded their scores at the Kiss and Cry station, a medical team escorted Hermione backstage to a screened off area. She was sore enough that she had been taken by ambulance to a nearby hospital.

Still soaking in disappointment and nerves, Draco went with Severus when he hired a taxi to take them over to see her. Draco was shaking too hard to speak, so Severus had handled everything.

She was fine, thank goodness. No broken or fractured bones. No torn muscles. Just the bruise.

He wanted to cry with relief when he found out.

Eventually, those tears morphed into tears of grief. Draco cried for what almost was. What he'd gone and messed up.

He'd ruined their dreams, single handedly.

The rest of the Olympics should have been a celebration. They had signed up to perform in the gala, and Draco had been looking forward to making the audience laugh with their lighthearted routine.

At the last minute, they backed out. Hermione claimed to be too sore to skate.

Draco knew otherwise.

They were going to end this trip to Sochi with as much dignity as they had left. Then, they would return to the UK with their tail between their legs.

Instead of attending the gala, they sat in separate hotel rooms and watched it on the television. During the whole-group skate at the end, a special spotlight moment was given to Fleur and Roger.

They'd been named gold medalists.

The envy stung, but picking up the shattered pieces of a life felt so much more painful.

He'd lost everything this week.

Draco wanted to pin the blame on something or someone. His father might have been a good choice. The man had been planting seeds of doubt in his ear and Hermione's for years, chipping away at them until they both cracked.

Yes, it would have been easy to blame Father.

He made that excuse plenty of times in the past. He'd kicked up enough tantrums to last a lifetime when was younger, always trying to place the blame on someone else's shoulders.

But Draco was no longer a child.

This was between him and Hermione. And if anything was going to get better, it was going to be up to them to solve it. Together. Just like they did everything.

On their very last night in Sochi, after the Closing Ceremony had come and gone, Draco finished packing up his suitcase, stepped out of his room, and made the journey up to the fifth floor.

It was time to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, who was even close about what caused that clash in the first chapter? Some of you were, but I hadn't yet caught anyone who nailed it down.
> 
> Hopefully the idiots part of "idiots to lovers" is coming to a close.
> 
> I hope this chapter lived up to expectation. I poured everything into it. An by everything, I mean 12.5K words.
> 
> Love to all of you!


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Olympics, Draco and Hermione begin to repair the rift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you all for waiting an extra week for a new chapter. I know I left you all with your hearts torn apart after the last chapter. As suspected, no one quite figured out what was going on in Chapter One, and for that, I'm a bit proud. 
> 
> Interestingly enough as well, there was a complete mixed reaction. Some sided with Hermione. Others sided with Draco. Most just wanted them to love each other. 
> 
> In any case, I hope you enjoy this chapter and that it was worth the wait! 
> 
> Love to GracefulLioness as always.

**Spring 2014**

If Hermione had to be completely honest with herself, signing up for the Rock the Rink Tour was not something she had ever wanted to do again.

The two months spent on the road three years ago had nearly killed her. And that was saying something. Even after years of an exhausting daily routine, there was something rather soul-crushing about touring around the country on a bus for weeks on end.

But it's what their sports therapist had suggested. And so that's what they did.

The moment they returned to the UK after their disastrous trip to Russia for the Olympics, Hermione began to research therapy options for the two of them. On their last night in Sochi, she and Draco sat together in her room for almost the whole night, talking.

It had been painful at first, trying to pick up the tattered remains of trust. Draco admitted that he was considering quitting altogether. That he wasn't sure if he could skate with her anymore after this.

That alone nearly sent her into a fit of sobs.

But somehow, they managed to bandage their relationship enough to make it back home in one piece. Back home in their own flat, there was no press. There was no spotlight. It was just the two of them, marinating in their own uncertainty. Not even three days later, she emailed Draco an alphabetised list of potential therapists in their area who could help them work through the complicated muck they'd somehow churned themselves into.

At first, Hermione looked into a sports counselor for the two of them. But the lens through which they viewed mental health just wasn't what they were looking for. Hermione stewed for days, voicing her frustrations frequently during shared meals at the table.

"Why don't you look for a couples' therapist?" Draco suggested from behind his newspaper over breakfast one day. "Considering why we actually want to talk to someone."

In the end, they settled for Dr. Puddifoot. She was a middle-aged woman who had been treating couples for nearly two decades. She wore brightly-coloured cardigan sweaters and always smelled like flowery perfume. Her office was covered in overly-stuffed armchairs and she always had a platter of fresh biscuits to offer them. Hermione supposed she liked to set the tone for her therapy sessions that way and keep her clients comfortable. Draco had been off put by her at first, but after a couple visits, seemed to enjoy clutching a large, soft pillow to his chest as he spoke.

Dr. Puddifoot listened carefully as they retold their long history.

How they'd met at age eleven. How they'd skated together ever since.

Hermione learned that Draco started being attracted to her when he was only thirteen.

She admitted to copious amounts of negative self-talk.

They both recounted the many times they'd snuck into each other's rooms in their Sheffield dormitory. Hermione insisted that it had all been platonic, but Draco turned a brilliant shade of scarlet, which told her that for him, that might not have held as true.

They had never told anyone that they had been sleeping together, let alone the on-again-off-again nature of that part of their relationship.

Hermione spoke at great length about the complicated anxiety that twisted at her insides when she thought about deserving someone like Draco.

Through it all, Hermione expected their therapist to raise her eyebrows at them or drop her jaw or shake her head in disbelief at least once.

However, Dr. Puddifoot seemed rather nonplussed about their whole situation.

"I've been in the business a long time," she frequently explained during their meetings. "There's very little I haven't seen, so it's highly unlikely you'll shock me."

For the first month after the Olympics, they saw Dr. Puddifoot three times a week. It was intense, but by the time March was fading from lion to lamb, Hermione was feeling more confident in herself than she had in years. Having a third party present to keep her accountable for her rational and irrational thoughts was a revelation. She now kept a special journal by her bed that she could fill out if her middle-of-the-night thoughts overwhelmed her.

But more than self-improvement, Dr. Puddifoot had been especially helpful to her and Draco as a pair. She'd suggested, first and foremost, that they put an extended hold on their sexual relationship.

Hermione and Draco both heartily agreed right away.

The root of many of the complexities in their relationship was that first time they'd shared together. They'd never properly talked before or after, and that moment sowed the seeds of a pattern that remained the same for over half a decade.

So sex was off the table.

Dr. Puddifoot also suggested that they take some time to relieve the pressure of skating. When she mentioned the possibility of taking a year off, Hermione felt Draco tense beside her on the couch.

They agreed to think about it.

What they did agree to, however, was to take the opportunity to skate together without competition to worry about.

That's where Rock the Rink came into play.

It was almost fate, the way things worked out. The very afternoon Dr. Puddifoot suggested they get back on the ice in a low-stress manner, one of the old tour managers from Rock the Rink shot both of them emails.

There was apparently an open slot in this year's lineup, and their names on the roster would sell a lot of tickets.

After an emergency call to Dr. Puddifoot on speakerphone, they reached back out to the tour manager and signed up.

Within the week, they were down in London rehearsing for their next bus trip around the UK.

Once again, their schedules were full. Rehearsals lasted all day. They still video chatted with Dr. Puddifoot twice a week. Between it all, they finally agreed to do a bit of press to appease the tour manager.

BBC Sport was the platform that snagged the coveted spot. Talk Shows had been chomping at the bit to dig into one of the worst moments of their lives and have them respond, but they had declined all requests for those sorts of interviews. BBC Sport, however, showed a bit more tact.

Although Hermione nearly sweat through the modest dress she wore to the interview in anticipation of facing a video clip of herself being dropped, they didn't mention that moment once. They focused on the successes from their previous season and on possibilities moving forward.

No, they still weren't sure what future seasons would bring. If there would be more seasons.

Yes, they were still beyond proud of their Grand Prix Final victory.

In the end, Hermione walked away from the interview with continued confidence.

Press and therapy aside, Hermione's main focus was on skating with Draco. Dr. Puddifoot had given them a long-term assignment: to use this tour as a means to rebuild their relationship.

And Hermione was not one to mess up an assignment.

"What are you doing?" Draco muttered through half-lidded eyes on their second morning in London. She'd woken up thirty minutes early and was clearing away the furniture in the living room of her parents' house. Mum had offered to let them stay there while they trained for the tour.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Hermione reached up and wiped sweat from her brow. "Come help me with this." She gestured to the couch she'd been trying to push against a wall.

Draco raised an eyebrow but came to help anyway. When the couch was finally out of the way, Hermione stood with her hands on her hips to admire her handiwork. She'd managed to clear large enough space for what she had in mind.

"Okay, you have your empty room." Draco clapped her on the shoulder. "Now will you please tell me why you made me move a couch at six in the morning?"

"We are going to do trust falls," she explained, stretching her arms to the ceiling to shake the last vestiges of sleep from her body.

"Trust falls?" Draco drew back, confused disbelief painted on his face as he scrunched his features. "Hermione, we haven't done those since we were kids."

"Exactly." She rubbed her hands together. "And don't you think we should get back to basics?"

Draco shook his head, but got into position anyway.

Catching her was easy enough. After years of passing her around his head, Hermione felt confident that Draco wouldn't drop her. Even the incident at the Olympics wasn't enough to shake her faith in Draco.

 _If you can have faith in him on the ice, why shouldn't you have faith in him off the ice?_ A little voice spoke in the back of her head. _If he says he loves you and wants to be with you, then trust him._

Hermione shook the voice away as she took her place as the catcher.

Catching Draco proved to be a bit more difficult. He'd bulked up considerably since they were children. And although she was muscular in her own right, Draco was in a category all his own. She let out a cry in the effort it took to prop him up. She groaned and grunted, pushing against his back with her own shoulder.

After nearly thirty seconds of struggle, he began to laugh at her.

That's when she let him fall to the ground with a soft _thunk_.

"Serves you right," she said as she stuck out her tongue.

The next exercise they attempted was another they hadn't done in some time. It was the tree climbing exercise Snape had them do regularly during their first couple years doing lifts. While Draco stood perfectly still, Hermione was supposed to cling to him and make her way around his torso with agility and grace.

Like the trust fall, the exercise was meant to reestablish a solid ground from which to rebuild the foundation of their relationship. Unfortunately, Draco started to laugh about ten seconds into it. His whole body shook as he tried to hold in his amusement, making Hermione have to hold on even tighter.

Though it proved difficult, Hermione held on well enough until she made it nearly all the way around his body.

And then they made eye contact.

There was something about looking directly at someone who was trying to hold in laughter. Hermione couldn't help it. Not really. Like air leaking from a tire, she felt a tiny giggle escape her. A snicker, really.

Draco snickered back.

Then they looked each other in the eye again.

And fell over laughing.

Draco didn't drop her, but let her down gently, instead. Though she was placed on her feet, Hermione quickly found that she was laughing so hard, her legs turned to jelly. Draco immediately fell over for the second time that morning, landing on his bum. What was so funny, Hermione wasn't sure. What she did know was this: It felt good to smile again.

Mum chose that exact moment to make her way down the stairs. They must have looked silly, standing in the living room with all the furniture pushed to the side, Hermione standing over Draco, both of them doubled over with laughter.

"Good morning, both of you." She laughed as she stepped into the empty space, thought here was definitely an air of confusion in her words. "What on earth are you two doing?"

"Ice dancing… exercise…" Hermione wheezed, hands on her knees.

"Right." Without even looking she knew Mum was smirking down at them. "Well, I'm happy to make your breakfast smoothies this morning if you promise to stop rearranging furniture."

Both she and Draco offered thumbs up before getting to work putting the room back the way they found it.

By the time the tour kicked off, Hermione felt as though her relationship with Draco had stabilised. It wasn't in the same crisis-like state they had found themselves in back in Sochi, but they still had a long way to go before there weren't at least some eggshells to walk on.

Much like their previous tour, much of Rock the Rink was all about hurrying up and waiting. Apart from performing, they had press to do as well as meet-and-greets to facilitate, but most of their daily routines consisted of waking up early and being shepherded along by managers until they had to wait backstage for another show.

Before, Hermione might have used the waiting time to read or watch some television program. She might have stared at some blank wall space in an attempt to clear her mind before heading out on ice.

After describing the structure of their days to her, Dr. Puddifoot suggested the two of them make use of all their waiting around time. She sent a list of conversation starters that Hermione had cut out and placed in a clear plastic zip-up bag. Every day of the tour in the hour or so they had between hair and makeup and their opening number, they picked a question or two from the bag and talked.

The only rule they had established was this: They had to be completely and utterly honest with each other. No skirting around the truth or lying by omission.

"Trust begins with truth." That's what Dr. Puddifoot was always saying, at least.

In Manchester, they talked about their first impressions of each other. It made them both laugh to think how stuck up Draco had been at that first ballet lesson. Draco admitted he hadn't known at the time that she'd been considered for the Royal Ballet School.

"If I'd have known, I might not have been such a cheeky little bastard." He shook his head. "If I recall, I called you a—"

"A tutu-wearing ninny. Yes, you did." Hermione chuckled.

That topic was much more of a laugh than the one they tackled in Blackpool.

When Draco read the question aloud, ("Describe a time you felt jealous or envious in a situation related to your partner.") Hermione immediately felt her cheeks heat. She didn't have to think particularly hard about her own example. It had taken her a long while to admit to herself just how jealous she had been when Draco was with other women. At the time, she had convinced herself it was all for the best, but articulating her real feelings out loud proved more difficult than anticipated.

As she described the bouts of debilitating jealousy she felt whenever Millicent or Astoria were around, she was hyper aware of Draco watching her, soaking in each and every word she spoke. It felt embarrassing to think of herself as ever being envious of that complete _bitch,_ Millicent or Astoria, who really had been lovely and just wanted the best for Draco.

He admitted to jealousy as well. Jealousy over Viktor, Harry, and Ron, despite there being no real reason for him to feel that way.

Draco also admitted to being jealous of Hermione for the family she had.

"I always wanted a family like yours." He leaned back in the uncomfortable plastic chair provided by the venue. "When we were kids, I always wanted to go home with you at the end of the day, instead of being driven home by Dobbs. I used to daydream about what it would be like to run away and live with your family."

Hermione had expected the conversation about jealousy to be awkward and perhaps embarrassing, but never would she have guessed that it would make her chest ache. She gripped the stiff, curved plastic arms of her own chair tightly, as though she could somehow squeeze the hurt from her body that way.

"I'm not sure what sort of person I'd've become without your family. Your dad, especially." Draco reached forward to hold one of her hands that was gripping the chair. She allowed it. He cleared his throat before he spoke again. "I was jealous of you because you had people at home who loved you, even when you made mistakes. I doubted whether I had the same. Often. Father used to hit me. Did you know that?"

He said it so casually, as though he were talking about kicking a football back and forth rather than being physically assaulted. Hermione shook her head, but she must have looked horrified, because Draco backtracked quickly.

"I swear, it wasn't that bad, Hermione." He shook his hands in front of his chest, palms out. "It was actually fairly rare."

"It shouldn't have happened at all!" She heard herself shout, her high-pitched voice indignant at the very notion that Draco believed it hadn't been that bad. She'd spent more than enough time with Lucius Malfoy to believe he was capable of hitting his son. After he attempted to sabotage Hermione's place in Draco's life all those years ago—because that's exactly what it was: sabotage—she never liked to be around him. She shuddered to think of what years of living under that roof had done to Draco's own psyche.

"And I know that now." Draco squeezed her hand. "It took years of watching you and your own parents interact to come to terms with my jealousy and realise that my father was a sack of shit. And that I didn't want to be one just like him. In that way, your parents saved me from myself.

Hermione watched as his eyes glazed over. He stared off at a spot on the wall somewhere just past her shoulder. And while he wasn't exactly close to tears, she could see the slightest wobble in his jaw.

"When your dad died, I was a lot sadder than I let on. He felt a lot more like a real dad to me than my own. But the crazy thing is, thinking back on it, I think I was still a little jealous of you even afterward. I think I still might be."

Grief, fresh and raw pulsed inside her as Draco spoke. How had she never realised the impact Dad's passing had on Draco? There had been so much focus on her own feelings that Draco's had been pushed to the wayside. It left a sour taste in her mouth.

"Please don't take this the wrong way and think I'm bitter or something." Draco reached his other hand on top of the first. "Because I'm not. It's more like… I'm sad. Because you feel your dad's love every time you step on the ice. Even if he's not there. And I know you think about it. I see the way you look up at your mum when we do our bows."

Hermione felt a sob welling up in her chest. She tried pushing it down. There wasn't enough time to fix her make-up before it was their turn to skate.

"I just… I guess I wish I knew what that kind of love and support felt like from a parent. That's what I think I'm trying to say."

Hermione gave in, droplets falling from her eyes as she squeezed his hand back. Her whole body ached, knowing he had felt this say for so long without saying anything. "Oh, Draco." She reached up and cupped his cheek with her free hand. "Dad loved you. Adored you. He talked about you all the time. You have to know that."

A single tear and sniff later, Draco nodded. "I do. Or at least I think I do. Now."

As heavy as the topic was, Hermione found that she felt lighter from the moment they stood and left the dressing room.

They continued this trend at every single stop of the tour. Sometimes, it felt a bit odd to have such serious conversations in the sparkly blue costumes that went with their _Holding Out For A Hero_ routine, but since when had anything about their time together _not_ been odd?

The _Holding Out For A Hero_ dance quickly turned into a fan favourite. If the screaming and laughing from audience members during the routine was any indication, their fans hadn't been deterred at all by their Olympic failings. It was one of the funnier routines they'd done over the years. Draco spent a good deal of time flexing and making ridiculous faces during the song. Hermione simpered and twittered, following just behind him as she attempted to get his attention, always seeming to just miss. Near the end of the song when he finally lifted Hermione high above the ice, the crowd cheered at her success at finally wooing Draco. People seemed as excited as always to see them skate, and for that, Hermione was grateful. Part of her had been filled with dread at the thought of returning to the ice for fear that no one would want to watch them anymore.

Not that she skated for the fans.

She skated for her and for Draco. For the love of the sport.

The last Rock the Rink UK Tour had nearly drained her, but this tour couldn't have been more of the opposite.

With each new city they visited, Hermione was reminded time and time again why she loved being on the ice. She loved the sound her blades made when she performed a twizzle. She loved meeting the young children that hid behind their parents legs when they timidly asked for autographs. And she loved, more than anything, the rush of joy that flooded her body when an arena full of people burst into applause after she and Draco performed their hearts out and hit the final pose.

It was intoxicating. Addicting.

But was it enough to sustain her?

It was four more long years until the next Winter Olympics. The thought of continuing training for all that time was enough to make her want to call it quits here and now. She wasn't sure she had the mental strength to be hopeful and self-assured about their chances, especially when their last chance had imploded in their faces.

And so, even as the tour made it up to the Highlands and turned South once more, Hermione still wasn't sure what the next steps in her career were.

She could continue to train on the ice, but at what cost to her mind and heart?

But if she stopped skating and competing, would she even know what to do with herself?

Unanswered questions swirled around her mind when she found herself with idle time. Between songs at performances. At night, lying in bed. While she was getting her makeup done. These questions did nothing to assuage her anxiety.

Even worse, she didn't not know how Draco felt about the whole thing. The future of their skating career was one of the few topics they hadn't touched yet during the tour. On a handful of occasions, they'd danced around the subject, but were quick with their words of delay.

"I'm not sure yet," became, "Ask me when the tour's over."

Draco was no help. Whenever she brought it up, he merely shrugged and responded with a grunt.

Hermione was hopeful that once they were back in Sheffield, they'd have a far better idea. If only Draco was willing to talk about it.

On a rainy day in April, once they were nearing the end of the tour, Hermione decided to take fate into her own hands. Careful to double-check the font Dr. Puddifoot had used, she made up her own question strip and slipped it into the plastic zip bag.

If Draco thought the question came from their counselor, he'd be far more inclined to answer it. Or at least think seriously about it.

That was Hermione's hypothesis, anyway.

She waited patiently for a couple of days as Draco kept drawing out different questions.

_What is something about your partner that always makes you smile or laugh?_

_In moments of stress, what is something your partner can do to put you at ease or, at least, not make it worse?_

It wasn't until their first of three performances in London that Draco picked her question. Hermione watched, her body vibrating with giddy anticipation, as he drew out the slip of paper. He cleared his throat and read aloud.

_Where do you see each other in five years? What is your vision for the future?_

Draco frowned at the little paper for a moment before tossing it onto the counter that lined the wall of their dressing room. He heaved a sigh and leaned back in his chair, the foldable metal kind this time.

"Care to go first?" He held his hand out in a vague gesture toward her.

Hermione shifted in her own chair, raising her eyebrows. "Why? Don't have an answer?"

"No, I just—" He paused to lean forward, running a hand through his hair. "I wanna hear what you have to say first."

"Right." Hermione sat up straighter. She spoke in a factual, straightforward manner, trying to keep emotion out of her voice. "In five years, I see us retired from professional skating. We'll both be in our thirties by then. I see myself in school, hopefully. Maybe even out of school already. I'd like to have a career after this. Try something new."

Like always, it felt good to get her deep-seated thoughts out in the open around Draco. If there was anyone she could trust with her innermost worries and hopes, it was him.

After a few seconds of silence, Hermione swallowed and looked up at Draco. "What about you?"

He didn't speak at first, his eyes just trained on her, unblinking and glazed over. But then he seemed to come to his senses, because he sat up straighter and shifted his gaze down to his hands, which were fidgeting in his lap.

"I don't think I'm ready to leave the ice." He laced his fingers together, pressing his thumbs against each other. "Even in five years. Even if we aren't professional anymore. I just… I can't even imagine a life where I'm not near the ice."

Hermione nodded along, murmuring, "Makes sense."

"That's why I was thinking about coaching. You know. Doing what Snape does. Helping up-and-coming skaters." He paused and looked up with a smile this time. "Who knows? Maybe I'll get lucky and land some really talented students."

Hermione smiled with closed lips. "Maybe."

They sat in silence again. The question that she'd penned made the air around them feel heavy. It was like wading through a thick fog, trying to get to the destination she was hoping they'd reach.

"What about… before five years?" Hermione whispered the question. "What about four years from now?"

"2018?"

The year held unspoken significance. Four years later. The next Olympics.

"Yeah. 2018."

Draco sighed. The sound made Hermione's heart clench. He just sounded so… defeated. To think that she played any part in making him feel this way only tightened the grip in her chest. But when he spoke, his answer wasn't quite as melancholy or pessimistic as she assumed it might be.

"To be completely honest, I keep going back and forth."

Hermione raised her eyebrows slightly. "Oh? Back and forth?"

Draco nodded. "There's a part of me that wants to go for it again. Because I _know_ we can do it. I mean, we skated the best we possibly could at the Grand Prix Final and we _won_. We fucking won and even came close to breaking a couple records."

He sighed again with that same melancholic timbre. "But it was so much work. So much sweat and exhaustion and monitoring minor injuries and our diets… And after all that, I botched it all up by doing the one thing I promised you I'd never do. I _dropped_ you."

Hermione squeezed his hand. "Draco, it's okay—"

"But it's not, Hermione. It's really not." He hung his head as he allowed his hand to fall from hers. "If I have one job out on the ice, it's to keep you safe. I need to be strong and steadfast in order for you to trust me. And I fucked it all up. I let our fight get to me, and it messed with my head." Draco scrubbed his face with his hands and spoke with a voice so hollow Hermione hardly recognised it. "I could have hurt you. Badly. _Permanently._ It's a miracle that you walked away with just bruises.

"For me, the idea of aiming for 2018 terrifies me because what if we put in all of this work and I end up hurting you again? Or I fuck up in some other way and all that hard work is for nothing?"

If Hermione knew Draco, he wanted to stew in his own misery until his heart was all pruny like when she stayed too long in the bath as a kid. He'd always been one for dramatics.

"Or…" She reached for the hand that he'd let fall away. His fingers were nearly trembling in her gentle grip. "What if it's not all for nothing? What if we try again and we get on the podium? Or better yet, what if we win?" She squeezed his hand. "I know you still have that toy medal you made for yourself when you were a kid. Don't think I haven't seen it inside your desk at home."

Draco's cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink, and her friend's sheepishness kept her talking.

"I know it's going to be hard. And yes, we might face another disappointment. But whenever we get out on the ice these days, all I can think about is the rude little boy who kept insisting he was destined to wear an Olympic gold medal around his neck. I think about him, and what he'd want us to do."

Draco chuckled. "He'd tell me I've gone soft."

Hermione shook her head with a grin dancing on her lips. "I'd say it's more like you've grown up. But _that_ Draco? He'd want you to try again." Hermione inhaled deeply as her thumb stroked the back of her best friend's hand. "And as for the issue of trust? If you recall, I'm not exactly blameless in this whole scenario. We both… have trust issues to work on."

Draco nodded, though he didn't look at her. He was facing the ground, as though lost in the thought of his shoes.

Hermione wanted with every fibre of her being to bring her hand to his chin and lift those grey eyes to meet hers. She wanted to pull his face closer until their lips brushed and she could kiss this all better. It's what they had done for each other many times. It was the main way she knew how to offer him comfort.

But she'd promised their therapist and herself that she wouldn't backtrack and revert to old, unhealthy patterns. She and Draco had to forge a new path and for now, that path had to be parallel.

Always side by side, but never touching.

Perhaps someday their paths would intersect again, bur right now wasn't the time to think about it. It wasn't the time about what could be between them.

Right now, they had to focus on making sure those parallel lines were strong and steadfast, like Draco lifting her on the ice.

That would take time. It was okay.

They had time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The recovery has begun, and our ice bb's will love again yet. 
> 
> Next chapter will see a bit of a time jump. I'm sure some of you wanted to see the initial discussion after the Olympics, but I wanted to put some distance between them and all those pent-up emotions. I just can't stand to see them suffer TOO much. 
> 
> As always, you can check out the Subtle Perfection Spotify playlist that's listed in my profile. Head over to my tumblr (biscuitsforpotter) to see see some incredible aesthetics made by Sumbul. 
> 
> Take care, everyone, and happy holidays!


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tragedy occurs in France.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up about 18 months after chapter 25. Last time we saw Draco and Hermione, they were truly beginning to communicate. So many of you wrote in comments how much you were happy to see good communication and let me tell you: Me, too!
> 
> This chapter is inspired by real events that happened in November 2015.
> 
> TW: Description of aftermath of terrorist attack
> 
> Major thanks to Graceful Lioness as always and Anne_Ammons for her French assistance.

**November 2015  
**

This was not how it was supposed to be. Not how it was supposed to go. Not at all.

One moment, he and Hermione had been celebrating a successful first day in France with a trip to a local restaurant for dinner. They didn't order any wine. Just some bread and butter, soup, and a couple entrées to share. Tomorrow would be a day for wine.

Their first day of the Trophée Éric Bompard had been one for the books. With a season's best score in their short dance, they were heading into the second day with their heads held high and their hearts full of hope. After taking the entire 2014-2015 season off, Draco had been nearly paralysed with anxiety about returning to the ice.

Yet, nearly two months into the season, it had been their most successful yet. Not only were they skating at their best, but their fans seemed more devoted than ever. They turned out in droves at each competition, waving signs and flags in support. It really did give his heart—and his ego—a boost whenever a practical wall of fans greeted him upon emerging onto the rink. He always tried to take a moment to soak it all in.

He'd especially soaked it in this afternoon. Tried to appreciate the sheer number of people with _Dramione_ signs scattered throughout the arena. And when they'd placed highest among the day's competitors in the short dance category, he'd tried to be a sponge.

And then…

**Two months earlier**

There were many things Draco had to remind himself of when he and Hermione began competing after their year off.

The first thing came as somewhat of a rude awakening: a call from Hermione at four o'clock in the morning. The sound rang incessantly until his brain was able to command his arm to fumble about in the dark until his fingers wrapped around the familiar weight of his phone. He'd grown used to waking at lovely, normal hours like six or even seven o'clock. What a fool he'd been, rising with the sun. It only made this routine that much harder.

"Wha'zit?" he slurred into the device, eyes drooping half against his pillow. Even four months into their training for the season set to begin soon, it still took a while for his brain to warm up in the morning.

"Good morning sleepy head." Hermione's perky voice chirped into his ear and he winced. "Still sleeping?"

It was how she woke him up nearly every morning of their new training season.

Draco groaned in response, and he could have sworn he heard Hermione laugh. "Tut, tut. We can't have that on our first day back. Out of bed. Come on."

"You know," Draco gritted his teeth as he pushed the covers off his body, "when you moved out to get your own place last year, I thought I might finally get away from your early morning wake-ups. But I guess not."

He heard Hermione give a mock gasp. "How very rude of you, Draco Malfoy! And to think that I was going to offer to buy doughnuts for both of us on my way to the rink this morning…" Her voice trailed off as his ears perked up.

"Doughnuts, you say?" Draco ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. "Right. I'm up. Give me thirty minutes and I'll be there."

He could practically hear her grinning through the phone. "Powdered, custard filled?"

"Do you have to ask?"

"Right. See you soon, then."

"See you."

Draco stood and stretched before padding across his room. Nothing in his space was even a hair out of place. All clothes were either hanging neatly in his closet or placed in the hamper, discreetly sitting beside under the bathroom sink. A small number of framed photographs and other trinkets adorned the sleek black television stand across from the end of his bed, but apart from that, the room was exactly how he preferred: clean and neat.

It was completely the opposite of how his flat was for years. Even his own bedroom had little touches of Hermione everywhere. A knick-knack on the dresser. A rumpled shirt on the floor. A misplaced book strewn across the bedside table under three other library books.

It hadn't been the most organised way to live, but their flat had always felt lived in. Homey. This flat, the one he'd rented after he and Hermione mutually agreed to give each other space, was okay. It wasn't anything spectacular. In fact, it was well below the price range he could afford with the range of endorsements and advertisements he'd been pursuing, but he didn't feel the need to show off.

Perhaps if he'd been looking for someone to impress.

But that was a Draco Malfoy from another life. This Draco Malfoy was someone who only wanted to impress one person, but that one person was completely off-limits for the foreseeable future.

When he finally arrived at the rink, Hermione was waiting out front. Sure enough, she held a small, flat box in one hand and a to-go mug of coffee in another.

They tucked into their breakfast before Snape arrived. Draco made sure to tuck two paper napkins into his collar to prevent the custard from dripping onto his expensive training gear.

Hermione, on the other hand, gobbled up her chocolate glazed doughnut with abandon, choosing to lick her fingers clean instead of wiping off the excess sugar properly with a napkin.

It was odd, meeting to skate at the rink like this instead of arriving together.

They'd been flatmates. And before that, they'd been only a few rooms apart in the dormitories. It had been over a decade that they'd been by each other's sides constantly when Hermione suggested that it might be easier to not give into temptation and allow for personal growth if they created purposeful separation. Granted, she'd been essentially parroting Dr. Puddifoot, but nonetheless.

Within a month of beginning therapy, she was gone, taking her purple sheets and shelves of books with her.

Three months after that, she'd managed to land a boyfriend. A real one, this time. Draco double-checked.

Although the relationship had only lasted five months, they'd both considered it a huge step forward. Dr. Puddifoot commended him on being so mature about the whole situation, though frankly, Draco had spent the better part of those months with his fists clenched. Cormac hadn't exactly been the ideal partner for Hermione.

He was boorish, interrupting Hermione and always trying to show off. He was also perpetually late. More than once, she had called Draco to complain that Cormac missed a film or didn't make it to a dinner reservation on time.

He'd had to stare at the ceiling and list off ballet sequences in his head whenever Hermione even referenced her sex life with the bastard to Dr. Puddifoot.

But eventually that phase had passed, and Hermione was single. He was, too. Dating just didn't seem like a good idea. He had been keeping plenty busy with the organisation he was building from the ground up, giving children who couldn't afford it access to sport. He spent his days meeting with donors, suppliers, a small marketing team, and families he was hoping to assist. By the time he got back home after hours upon hours of work, he was exhausted. Every once in a while, his fingers itched to text Hermione and ask her if perhaps she wanted to come over. Have a couple drinks. Go to bed…

But he managed to hold back. Each and every time he was tempted, he stopped himself. He had to. If their relationship, whatever it was or would become, was to survive, he needed to show self-restraint.

And so he did.

Draco had eventually gotten used to living alone. For the most part. The flat was especially quiet nowadays. He didn't have to put up with unnecessary clutter or someone else using up all the hot water. Times like these made him miss her, though. When they were just sitting side by side, not really talking. Just enjoying being together.

He took a careful bite of his doughnut and swallowed it before attempting to start a conversation.

"Excited to get back the ice to compete?" Draco licked a bit of custard from his bottom lip, making sure to not let any drip.

Hermione nodded. "I spoke to Fleur the other day—"

Draco paused, his teeth millimeters away from taking another bite. "Fleur? Like, _Fleur_ , Fleur?"

"Do you know anyone else with that name?" Hermione laughed and reached for her second doughnut. "Yes, it's the same Fleur you're thinking of. We've been chatting. She's kept me up-to-date with all the skating-related scuttlebutt while we've been away. She even asks about how my uni classes are going. I think we're nearly friends." With a comically large bite, she stuffed half the doughnut in her mouth at once, smiling as sugary glaze clung to the edges of her mouth. It was abundantly clear that she didn't care if she got some on her training clothes. Not nearly as much as he cared, anyway.

"Friends? With Fleur Delacour? I swear, if I ever see the two of you doing something like getting drinks together, I'll kiss Severus.

"She really is sweet once you get to know her." Hermione popped the rest of the doughnut in her mouth. "And besides," she said as she chewed. "I honestly think she reached out because she's bored. There wasn't nearly as much competition last year. She and Roger were basically guaranteed to win."

Draco scoffed and dabbed the area around his mouth with the napkin from around his neck. "Absurd. Win a gold medal and suddenly you're bored. What a ridiculous notion."

Snape chose that moment to enter their home rink in Sheffield, stepping through the double glass doors at the entrance with a large to-go cup of tea in hand.

"Good morning to you both." He greeted them between sips from the cup. "How are you feeling about next weekend?" Snape was referring to the regional competition they'd be attending in just five days' time.

"I'm feeling good, actually," Hermione piped up as she closed the now-empty doughnut box headed for the nearby rubbish bin. "Draco?"

Draco took his cue and forced a stiff smile across his face. "I'm feeling good as well. Nervous, but good."

"Excellent." Snape pulled a notebook from his black messenger bag. "Some nerves are just what you need. If you were feeling overly confident, I'd be worried. Now let's take a look at the season one more time."

Their coach opened up his notebook to a hand-drawn grid with notes scribbled in the margins. Inside was the master schedule for the complete season, including caveats for potential wins and losses.

Best case scenario, they'd win in Spain during the Grand Prix Final in December and also at the World Championships in Boston a few months later.

Worst case… Draco didn't want to think about that. He wasn't ready for those kinds of possibilities.

"Now," Snape snapped the book shut once they had finished reviewing. "Your short dance this year looks excellent. You've practised your gala piece a great deal. The only bit that still keeps me up at night is your free dance. Let's start with that one."

Draco took Hermione's hand and together they skated to the center of the rink. He braced himself for this to be the first of many run throughs today. After all, a perfectly executed, expressive free dance was key to any competition, and right now, their free dance just wasn't there yet.

**November 14, 2015 - Bordeaux, France**

"We're not doing it?" Hermione's voice bounced off the walls of the hotel room as Draco sat in the armchair, eyes glued to the television screen. "Are you positive?"

There was a momentary pause before Hermione sighed. "Right. Okay. I'm sure the judges thought it was for the best. Well… thank you."

She pressed the red End Call button on her smartphone and tossed it onto her bed before flopping down, herself.

Draco felt dread creep into his throat as he watched her prone form sink into the mattress.

"Bad news?" His eyes flicked between Hermione and the television, where a reporter stood in front of a flood of ambulances and police cars. Of course it was bad news. Nothing about today should be good. Not after everything he was seeing unfolding in front of his eyes.

"They're cancelling the rest of the competition."

"Cancelling?" Draco furrowed his brows. He understood the idea of a delay. A rescheduling, even. But to cancel the Trophée Éric Bompard? What would they do about the results? The winner of this competition was supposed to proceed to the Grand Prix Final in Spain.

"I mean, they don't want us gathering in large groups." Hermione rolled over and sat up, her eyes landing on the television. "It's just not a good idea right now."

Draco nodded without saying another word. What could he say? Nothing was going to make them feel better. Not about the competition. Not about what had happened the day before.

They were relatively far away from the carnage, tucked away in Bordeaux instead of Paris, but the Trophée Éric Bompard was a big enough event that it drew in international travellers, reporters… someone could slip through the cracks.

No matter how much Draco wanted to make a solid comeback this year, somethings just weren't the risk.

"No, you're right. It's not a good idea. Not now."

**October 2015**

"Have you seen this?" Hermione practically shoved her phone under Draco's nose as they sat backstage at the UK Skating Championships. They had already performed their Short Dance the day before and were now simply waiting around for their turn to perform their Free Dance. The hard plastic chair backstage was starting to make Draco's backside sore. He shifted in his seat at least once every five minutes and had yet to find a comfortable position to sit.

"No," he chuckled, lowering the phone so the image on the screen wasn't so close that it was blurry. "I haven't."

"Oh my god. You have to see this."

Hermione scooted beside him so their elbows were touching, holding the phone sideways and tapping the screen with her index finger.

The first thing he recognised was the song. It was one he heard nearly constantly on the radio and blasting from storefronts. That popular one by Ed Sheeran. But it wasn't a music video. Or, at least, it wasn't Ed Sheeran's music video. Someone had compiled clips of the two of them skating over the years and set it to music. And it wasn't just clips of them skating. It was also interviews they'd done.

Draco watched himself as he nudged Hermione with his shoulder when they were thirteen. He saw them execute a very intimate lift that ended with them face-to-face, their foreheads pressed together. That had been from a gala performance a few years ago. There were clips from that slightly racy interview they'd given with BBC Sport when they'd run off and shagged in the dressing room almost immediately after.

The memory sent a shiver up his spine. He was suddenly aware of how close Hermione was. They'd been in a dressing room not unlike this one.

Draco swallowed and shook himself mentally.

He could resist. He had to.

He focused on the video again.

It was clear that whoever put this video together had painstakingly combed through years and years of footage. Draco watched as he kissed Hermione's cheek on the rink following a successful performance. He watched as they skated hand-in-hand as children. Watched as they held hands off the rink.

Then he noticed something he'd never seen before. During one of the clips, he was answering some interview question, his eyes clearly trained on the reporter sitting behind the camera. But what he hadn't noticed at the time was Hermione. She wasn't looking just past the camera like him. Instead, her head was turned to face him. She watched as he answered with a look in her eyes that made his stomach swoop. It was a look of admiration. Of adoration.

Of love.

Did Hermione ever look at him like that now?

Draco's stomach swooped. He suddenly wasn't sure if he could handle the rest of the video. As surreptitiously as he could, he snuck a glance sideways at Hermione. Part of him hoped she'd be doing the same now. Watching him.

She wasn't. She was smiling at her phone.

The swoop in his stomach turned to churning disappointment, but he pushed it aside.

When the music finally faded, they sat in silence for a moment while Draco tried to process what he'd just seen. He watched as Hermione turned the phone vertically and flicked through the comments. Most of them were speculations of one kind or another, each more ridiculous than the last. Many commenters believed that they were actually in love and dating. Others speculated that they were secretly married and had a hidden child. Draco scoffed at those ones in particular.

One common thread wove its way through every comment he laid his eyes on, though.

_There's no way they can look at each other like that and not be in love._

_Do you see the way they look at each other? Why can't someone look at ME like that?_

_After almost 15 years together, they have to be together. She looks so in love and he looks totally gone._

Draco snuck another glance at Hermione. The apples of her cheeks had blossomed into a soft blush as her thumb scrolled down the page.

When the page finally stopped scrolling as it loaded more comments, Hermione looked up from the phone, right into his eyes. Draco quickly averted his gaze and swiped down to close the video.

"Silly, isn't it?" She chuckled, though Draco had a sneaking suspicion she didn't think it was nearly as silly as she let on.

"Mmm," he agreed. "Silly."

"There's more. Did you know?"

Draco huffed in disbelief, rearranging himself in the chair again. This time, he made sure to put a little distance between them, a couple centimeters at least. "More? God, people have this amount of time and energy to make videos of us?"

"Apparently." Hermione handed her phone to him, and he scrolled through the long list of available videos. It turned out that if you searched for "Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy" on YouTube, several thousand videos popped up.

It was… overwhelming.

Many were videos of performances. Others were interviews they'd done over the years. But a good handful, Draco found as he continued to scroll, were handcrafted creations, carefully stitched together to various songs. People apparently had enough of an obsession to devote their time to set clips of them to the song of their choice.

Some of the songs were sweet, like the Ed Sheeran one. Others, not so much. He had to scroll away fast before his face went completely red when he spotted the titles of particularly racy ones.

At this point, he closed out of the YouTube app and handed the phone back to Hermione.

"So, yeah…" Hermione cleared her throat and stuck her phone back in her duffel bag. "I thought you'd find that… amusing."

"Yeah." Draco coughed and shifted again. "Amusing."

As much as he tried to avoid thinking about Hermione in a romantic or sexual way, something always seemed to appear, bringing those feelings to the forefront of his mind once more. And every time, he'd push back on them.

They'd agreed to stay platonic. Stay friends. Work on themselves.

Perhaps, one day, they'd revisit those feelings. But not now. Not when they'd only just begun to get back on the ice.

And who knew? Maybe by then, they'd have moved on. Who was to say Hermione wouldn't find another boyfriend. A good one this time. The thought soured in his stomach like curdled milk, but what choice did he have but to push it aside?

For their career. For their sanity and their hearts.

**November 13, 2015**

They two of them had been out to dinner with a large group of skaters when they heard the news. The short program competition had ended just an hour or so ago, and they'd all changed quickly to meet at a local restaurant. He and Hermione split their entrées as they sat across from each other at a long table that was jam-packed with skaters from all over Europe and North America. It was a bit raucous, but that was to be expected with all the nervous energy in the room.

They sat with the Weasley siblings to one side and Fleur and Roger on the other. Hermione chatted jovially with them all as she ate. She and Ginny Weasley, in particular, giggled the night away as the redhead showed off her newly-acquired engagement ring.

Potter had popped the question recently, it seemed, and Hermione seemed interested to know all the details.

They'd just been getting around to ordering dessert when Fleur picked up a phone call, ducking down and pressing one hand to her free ear.

And then she screamed.

The entire restaurant went silent as the sound reverberated around the room. Fleur held the phone a few centimeters away from her ear as her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears.

Before anyone could say anything, she yelled to the bartender across the restaurant to turn on the television.

It was then that Draco knew something was horribly wrong.

The only sounds apart from those coming from the television speakers were those of scraping chairs as everyone turned to face the bar.

What Draco saw made his stomach turn.

Sirens. Police officers running. People being carried away on stretchers. Crying and screaming.

Beside him, Fleur looked like she was about to collapse. Draco stood quickly and steaded her while Roger slipped her phone from her grip. His face went white only moments after holding it up to his ear and informing the person on the other line that he'd be taking over the call.

Attacks. There'd been attacks in Paris. Not just one, but many, it seemed.

One at a football game. Another at a concert. Several at restaurants.

Draco watched as the owner of this restaurant called all his staff to the kitchen.

They were far away, in Bordeaux. Surely, these attacks weren't going to be happening all over France? He tightened his grip on Fleur and shot Hermione a glance. Her eyes were trained on the television, wide with horror.

Draco was filled with the sudden urge to leave. To get out of here, back to the relative safety of their hotel room.

The restaurant owner, it seemed, had the same idea. He pushed one of the waitstaff forward.

"Um, hello, everyone." The middle-aged gentleman spoke with a thick French accent. "I am speaking English for Monsieur Laurent, because many of you are international guests. Due to the circumstances in Paris, we are closing the restaurant for the night. Please pay what you can and go back to your homes immediately. Merci."

He repeated the announcement in French before retreating back to the huddle of employees.

Instincts confirmed, Draco stood, leaving Fleur in Roger's care. The man was off the phone by now and was whispering comforting words to his sobbing partner. Draco walked around the table to focus on Hermione, who still sat rooted the spot, eyes never leaving the footage of carnage on the television.

"Come on," he muttered, crouching down in front of her to block the television from view. "Let's get back. I don't want to be out here."

Hermione frowned, her brows furrowing. "I just… I don't want to miss anything. What if there's news about attacks in other places? I don't want to go outside. They said it was someone in a black car, and I…"

She shivered. Draco grasped her hands in his and gripped them tightly. "I promise I'm not going to let anything happen to you. We'll go quickly and then we can turn on the news as soon as we get back."

Hermione looked up at him, eyes shining.

"I don't want to be alone."

Draco thought of all the therapy work they'd been doing for nearly two years. They'd been so good, keeping their distance and avoiding staying together.

But tonight was not a night for that. Dr. Puddifoot could pathologize it all she wanted later, but right now, Draco was confident that staying apart was not the right thing to do.

He squeezed Hermione's hand. "You won't be alone. You can stay with me."

Confusion flitted in her eyes for a moment, but before she could say anything, he'd hoisted her to her feet and wrapped an arm around her waist.

The hotel was just two blocks away, but Draco didn't want to take any chances. He hailed a taxicab just outside the restaurant after watching Fleur and Roger do the same.

"I wonder what happened with Fleur?" Hermione pondered once they were tucked in the back seat. She clung to him still, her hand clutched in his. "The look on her face… Do you think something happened to someone she knows?"

Draco shook his head. "I'm not sure. But… let's not speculate about that. I'm sure we'll know with time."

Within an hour of arriving at the hotel, Severus called to inform them that day two of the competition had been cancelled. The results from the short program earlier that day would be used as qualifying scores for the Grand Prix Final. It was understandable, so they accepted the update and returned to watching the news together. Draco leaned against the headboard. Hermione sat just in front of him between his knees. Her back was pressed into his chest. There was something comforting about that familiar weight leaning into him, knowing she was with him, even as the world fell apart.

They eventually fell asleep like that, with stories of tragedy still pouring from the television into the dark room.

Even with the news of the competition's cancellation, Draco and Hermione remained in France several extra days. The very thought of having to navigate around Charles de Gaulle Airport at a time like this was daunting, so with a few phone calls, they were able to rearrange their return trip.

Their extra time was spent entirely in Bordeaux. This would have normally been an exciting development. The area was filled with such delicious food and wondrous sightseeing, but until the moment they piled in a shuttle that would take them to the airport, they mostly stayed cooped up in the hotel.

By the second day, Fleur had returned to Paris. She took the first train she could arrange and left in the early hours of November fifteenth.

When a small handful of skaters gathered for dinner that night Roger filled Hermione and Draco in with a whisper.

"One of the locations… the concert venue… Fleur's sister Gabriella was there with friends. She's okay now, but she was taken hostage for two hours. It was her mother who called her at the restaurant to tell her."

There hadn't been much talk other than that over the meal.

By the time a week had passed and new plane tickets had been arranged, there was a newfound sense of camaraderie that Draco felt with his fellow skaters. Of course, there were many he'd known peripherally for years, but being stuck in a hotel with all of them for a week during a time of tragedy made him feel close to them for the first time.

Among the ongoing conversations was one that centered around doing… _something_.

It took quite a long time to hone in on the right idea, but once the suggestion of a special fundraising skating gala was tossed into the mix, everyone immediately agreed it was the best path forward. Draco, having some of the highest connections among the group, volunteered to reach out to the President of the International Skating Union to see what he thought.

One quick phone later and a January date and venue in Paris were already in the works.

It felt good to be productive. Draco didn't do well just sitting around and soaking in bad news like a sponge. He took charge of the listless group of skaters and got them brainstorming about the proposals they could bring to the table to present to ISU.

Draco and Hermione boarded a plane on the twenty-third with a list of performing skaters as well as a handful of surprise guests arranged. Even a few Junior skaters reached out to see if they could participate.

Even back in the UK, Draco stayed busy planning the event. Between all the intensive rehearsals leading up to the Grand Prix Final in Spain, Draco spent nearly all his free time on the phone with one person or another. After a while, when the whole thing became a bit much for one person, Hermione suggested he give Roger a call.

Roger, it turned out, was not as antagonistic as Draco had once thought him to be. From the very first phone call, he happily got on board with the idea, taking the reins when it came to calling local vendors to persuade them to assist in their cause. Being a national hero had its merits, Draco supposed. And in France, Roger was definitely a hero.

By the time the top competitors gathered in Spain in mid-December, Draco found that he was looking forward to the event, not just to try and get a gold medal, but also, to see his friends again. Because that's what all those skaters were to him. Friends. Yes, they were still highly competitive with one another, but off the ice, he supposed they weren't half bad.

**January 2016**

From the moment Draco stepped out of customs with Hermione by his side at Charles de Gaulle, he knew he was in for a crazy weekend. Photographers crowded the international arrivals hall, trying to get the right shot of the two of them in their travel gear. When word got out in the French press that Roger Davies wasn't the master of operations behind this event, but rather, it was Draco Malfoy, he'd been commended for his neighbourly spirit and good heart.

Draco wasn't entirely sure he actually possessed those qualities, but he'd take good press when it was handed to him on a silver platter without questions asked.

Rehearsals were scheduled to run all day Thursday and Friday and then the big performance was set for Saturday night.

Although the French public had been slowly trickling back to normal life, tonight's event was a grand enough affair that it felt as though the entire country was splurging. Flags decorated the balconies of many homes they drove past on the way to the area where they'd be performing. When their taxicab drove past an advertisement for their event at a bus stop, Hermione pressed a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

"Proud of you," she mumbled before turning back to look out the window on her side of the back seat.

Draco allowed himself to feel momentary butterflies before returning to the task at hand.

The skating venue was decorated in a tactful amount of Tricolours, and once inside, Draco was pleased to see that a small portion of the seating area on one end of the oblong area had been converted to an intimate stage for a handful of special, non-skating guests who were due to make an appearance on Saturday.

The event was set to be a tribute to France, herself. To the people and culture, who remained strong as ever. It was meant to show that they would not be broken in the face of terror, and would find joy again.

Famous French melodies and songs had been selected by each of the performers, all of whom had been reassuring Draco for weeks that they'd been taking time to rehearse to the point of perfection. All that was left to do was learn the choreography for the emotional finale. That was set to be the main focus of the next forty-eight hours.

As soon as they got to the venue, both he and Hermione changed into training clothes and pulled on their skates. They were met out on the ice by a crowd of the most famous skaters in the world. Any die-hard fan would surely be losing their mind if they could poke their head through a cracked window, if there were any.

"Right. From ze top!" The most famous of all French skaters in history, Madame Maxime, pushed off from her spot by the side of the rink and called all the skaters to the middle of the ice.

Draco and Hermione skated out, hand-in-hand, greeting friends as they passed. So many had come from across the globe to show support for their French counterparts. There were skaters from Japan and Korea, from Turkey and Russia, Germany, Italy, Canada, and America.

All through rehearsals, Draco kept his eyes, not on Madam Maxime or his friends, but on the French skaters. Fleur, in particular, seemed to be on the verge of tears for over an hour. But these weren't the tears he'd seen two months ago in that restaurant. There was no desperation or even sadness as her eyes shone during rehearsals.

"I think you've finally gone and made Fleur's good side," Hermione joked after their first hour on the ice.

Draco sipped at his bottle of water from a bench beside the rink. "What makes you say that?"

"Because you made this event happen, Draco. And she looks as though she's about to come over her and kiss you because of it."

"She's—what?"

Before Draco had the chance to properly process Hermione's words, Fleur flitted over from Roger's side and swooped down to kiss him on both cheeks. He felt his cheeks heat up as she beamed down at him from where she stood just in front of him.

"I want to thank you, Draco." Fleur pushed her hair behind her ears, likely a nervous tic. "When I heard what happened to Gabrielle, my sister, I was so scared. So frightened. I wanted to do something, but couldn't. I was able to be there for my sister, but Draco, because of you, I feel as though I can be there for all of France as well. So thank you."

Fleur looked away as she said the final three words, as though looking him in the eye at that exact moment might have been a bit too much. He didn't really mind, though. He'd have been the same way, especially with someone with whom he'd never been particularly close.

"Of course." Draco nodded and patted her arm a bit awkwardly. "It felt good to be useful in the wake of tragedy."

"Mm." Fleur hummed in agreement. "I wanted to tell you that Gabrielle is coming to ze show on Saturday. It's… the first time she'll be out since, well…"

Fleur's voice trailed off and the joy dissipated from her eyes for a moment.

"I shall look forward to skating against you from now on, Draco. You are a far worthier opponent than I imagined."

The beautiful woman walked away from him, and as her silhouette fell out of focus, he honed in on the expression on Hermione's face. Her eyebrows were raised higher than he'd seen in a long time with wide eyes to match. A laugh danced on the edges of her lips, as if to say, " _Did that really happen?"_

Draco just shrugged back at her, raising his own brows.

It was Friday afternoon when the special guests made their appearances. There were a handful of singers and bands, a couple television personalities, as well as a stand-up comic that were all scheduled to go up on the small stage at the far end of the arena to perform between skating acts. Everyone was really lovely, and offered congratulations to Roger Davies on such a splendid idea.

"Oh no," he explained in French multiple times before gesturing to Draco. "I'm not the one who arranged for everything or even had the idea. My name just has more weight in France. It's Draco who you should be congratulating."

Hermione told him later over dinner that he'd turned a delightful shade of pink when all the celebrities turned their attention to him.

"Not even three years ago you'd have loved to get all the credit for putting something like this together." Hermione shook her head and grinned as she spooned a bit of chocolate mousse into her mouth. "Who is this new, humble Draco Malfoy I'm seeing? Are you sure you're the same man I've been skating with for a decade and a half?"

"Ha ha." Draco stuck his tongue out at her.

"Ah." She pointed her spoon at him. "There he is." They shared a chuckle as they took more bites of their respective desserts. "But seriously, you seem reluctant, almost to an uncharacteristic degree, to accept praise about this amazing thing you've done."

Draco waved her off. "It's honestly not that amazing."

"There you go again!" Hermione set her spoon down and dabbed at her mouth before leaning forward as if to make sure she caught his eye. "Take some credit for what you've done. Working on an international scale to put together an event of this size within two months? Draco, you're amazing."

This time, the heat on his cheeks was far warmer.

"You know, if tomorrow goes as well as I think it will, perhaps you ought to think about producing figure skating competitions or galas. Professionally. I mean, I know you had your heart set on coaching, but with your charisma and connections —"

"My charisma?" Draco snorted. "You've got to be kidding."

"Draco, you could charm the pants of almost anyone you meet and you know it."

"Charm the pants off?" He fought a laugh as he pretended to consider the notion. "Are you included in that list of 'almost anyone I meet?'"

Draco realised the implications of the words as they left his mouth. Quickly, he snapped his jaw shut until his lips pursed. The blush on his cheeks burned all the way down his neck this time.

He had just ventured into very dangerous territory.

Judging from the way Hermione had turned bright red, she was fully aware of exactly what he had just implied.

"Shit." He backpedaled as fast as he possibly could manage, running his hands through his hair to relieve some of the stress he'd just dumped on himself. "I'm sorry. I didn't— _shit._ "

Hermione was still the colour of a tomato. "No. It's okay. I just… yeah."

Draco's hand swept to the back of his head, where he scratched the back of his neck, doing his best to look sheepish. "Yeah?"

She shook her head. "Yeah. Yes."

It took him a minute to realise that she'd actually answered the question.

That only made him blush harder.

This was definitely dangerous, uncharted territory.

They sat in silence for a bit. Draco stared at his napkin. He assumed Hermione was doing something similar. Without looking at each other, they finished their desserts in awkward haste, practically shoveling larger-than-normal bites into their mouths to finish sooner.

Draco tossed the correct amount of Euros onto the table and grabbed his jacket. He needed to get out of here, away from this strictly forbidden situation. He was afraid if he stayed a moment later, he'd lose control of himself, find the nearest wall, press Hermione against it, and grind his budding erection into her.

Whether those thoughts were similar to those running through Hermione's mind, he never found out. Just as fast as him, she buttoned her peacoat, grabbed her clutch, and headed for the entrance of the restaurant.

It would be unwise to chase after her and act on his desires. Not when they had come so far. Not when they still had so much at stake.

But, in a way, it was nice to know that she still found him charming.

~*~*~*~

 _Patineurs pour l'Unité_ had sold out within hours of posting tickets, but it was quite another thing to see lines of people wrapped around the block to gain admittance to the event.

Draco took his chances and peeked out a back entrance after make-up.

He couldn't help the swell of pride in his chest when he took in the sight of thousands of people waiting to see a show he'd helped to produce. His memory floated to the night before, when Hermione had suggested he do this for a living.

It was an intriguing idea, to be sure. He'd have to wait to see how today went.

In the interim before performances, a couple journalists came to his dressing room for informal interviews. They insisted he was the hero of the day—that he'd brought France back together again after tragedy. Draco was quick to dismiss such exaggerated statements.

"It's the people of France who are the heroes. I just happen to be the bloke in the room who met the President of the ISU when he was in primary school."

"And your father? He must be so proud."

Draco bristled at the mention of the man he despised. "Why would that be?"

The journalist plowed on, seemingly unaware that he'd just made a faux pas. "Well, he spent so much time dedicated to planning events such as this. Surely, he must be pleased that he's passed on his connections to you."

Draco huffed and shook his head. "Frankly, I'm not sure what my father thinks. I haven't spoken to him in some time. My father—" He paused, trying to think of how best to phrase this. "He is a well-connected man, yes, but I doubt he'd have arranged for something like this, especially not out of the goodness of his heart. And he certainly would have wanted to be far more front-and-center than I've wanted to be."

The journalists seemed taken about at this point. Their pens had fallen away from their notepads as they sat, slack jawed in the wake of Draco's admission.

"Look, I don't want to focus on my relationship with my father. That's not the point of today. The point of today is that it's not about me at all. It's about helping those who suffered back in November, and who continue to suffer. It's about bringing people back together. And if I could play a small part in that, I'm glad. But today, I want the cameras to be on the people of France. Not on me. I just want to go out there and skate."

The journalists seemed to like this response, grinning into their notepads as they jotted something down.

He was far more comfortable once he changed into the first of three costumes for the show. He and Hermione were set to perform a piece just the two of them, another with Fleur and Roger as a duet of sorts, and then in the grand finale.

First in the program was a French junior figure skater who chose the heartbreaking piece, _The Swan_ from _The Carnival of Animals_.

Following her was a Korean woman from the women's singles division who made the audience gasp with delight at his fluid interpretation of Debussy's _Arabesques_.

Draco had watched every act perform multiple times during rehearsals, and each was better than the last, each a tribute to France in some way.

From the moment he set foot on the ice for the duet, the first of their pieces for the day, Draco was able to soak in the unique atmosphere. The audience today was fired up in a way he'd never seen. Not even on tour. The people here today clapped louder and longer than he could have anticipated. They seemed reverent, almost. Draco could have sworn he even saw some people crying.

He and Hermione, Fleur, and Roger skated to light and romantic song, _Sous Le Ciel de Paris_. The audience knew all the lyrics, singing along as they performed. Normally, this would have annoyed Draco. It went against protocol to interrupt performers in any way. But this wasn't a typical performance. He wasn't on the ice to compete. He was out there to make the audience happy.

Oddly enough, knowing that the audience felt that connected to the performance filled his own chest with happiness as well.

The biggest hit of the night was, by far, a group of men's singles skaters from various countries who came together to perform a medley of various versions of _Les Champs-Élysées_. The Frenchman, who was met with a roar from the audience when he entered the rink, started the group of skating off to the most well-known version. After a minute, the American burst in to skate to a punk rock version of the same song where the singer clearly didn't speak French as a native language.

The audience ate it up, smiling and laughing as the American moved his body in a jerky way that complemented the music perfectly. A Japanese man eventually joined them, putting his own twist on the performance with a jazzy version of the same song.

All the while, Draco watched from the monitor backstage, tapping his foot and grinning as the audience reacted to the near-constant changes in music styles.

All three men finished off the performance with a classy, acoustic version of the song, encouraging the audience to join in and sing as they draped their arms over their shoulders and performed a silly little kickline to finish off the act.

He and Hermione were the second-to-last group to take to the ice. After debating their choices for a long while, they'd settled on a Mika song in French. Granted, the singer wasn't French, himself, but it seemed appropriate to dance to a song by British singer fluent in the language. It was an upbeat song, and Draco couldn't help but grin from the moment the melody filled the venue.

Dancing with Hermione to a song like this, he was reminded why he loved skating in the first place. He felt as though he was flying as he glided over the ice. His heart was soaring, too. For the longest time, he'd relied on Hermione alone to keep him going in the skating world. She was his rock. And while he still loved to skate with her and for her, this was something different entirely.

He wasn't skating for her.

He wasn't even skating for himself.

It was for the people. For the joy he saw on their faces as he whizzed by on the ice. For the way they bobbed their heads moved their bodies to the beat. These were people who deserved to dance.

As he and Hermione passed by the center of the rink, Draco caught sight of Gabrielle Delacour, sitting in the VIP box. She was grinning from ear to ear, jumping up and down and singing along.

The pinnacle of the evening, at least for the audience, was Fleur and Roger's performance of _Clair de Lune_. There was something so raw, so vulnerable about that performance… it left Draco's chest aching whenever he watched them perform.

He knew now why they earned a gold medal at the Olympics.

By the time the grand finale came around, there wasn't a dry eye in the entire arena.

 _Le vie en rose_ was a classic. It was quintessentially French, and therefore, the perfect choice to close out the show. All the skaters took to the ice for the Louis Armstrong version of the song, moving in synchrony to the scratchy voice and simple instrumentation. Draco and Hermione danced together in a simple but intimate swing, their bodies close. In the past, he might have thought about the feeling of Hermione's body pressed against his, but for now, there were bigger experiences to soak in.

At one point, the song faded away as a now-famous video clip of a father and son appeared on the screens hanging over the center of the ice.

" _It's okay, they might have guns, but we have flowers."_

" _But flowers, they don't do anything. They're for… they're for…"_

" _Of course they do. Look, everyone is putting flowers. It's to fight against guns."_

" _It's to protect?"_

" _Exactly."_

" _The flowers and candles are here to protect us."_

The video faded away, revealing Fleur and Roger under a spotlight at the center of it all. The original French version of _La vie en rose_ began to play as the two danced together right into the hearts of everyone in the room.

For Draco, it was okay not to be in the spotlight. He'd have his moment. He and Hermione both would in the skating seasons to come. But for now, it was nice just to be reminded of the power of music, of skating, and of compassion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was doing research for this fic and I read that the ACTUAL Trophee Eric Bompard competition coincided with the 2015 Paris Attacks, I knew I wanted to include it in this story. I hope I did it justice. The event was incredibly traumatic for Paris and I wanted to show what kind of impact it might have had on the community when the competition was cancelled. 
> 
> So, while the skating gala, Patineurs pour l'Unité, is fictional, the circumstances surrounding the events in this fic are entirely based on fact. I also wanted to use it as a vehicle to explore how Draco has grown as a person. 
> 
> This is such a heavy music chapter! For an updated Spotify playlist, check out this link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21UNgzUJE0kSX0VDNnJk6V
> 
> I hope all of you have a safe and healthy New Year. Take care and I can't wait to continue sharing our ice bb's with you into 2021!


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione tackles difficulties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, friends. Today has been a day. I hope that offering you this long chapter can brighten your day and give you a glimmer of something good. 
> 
> Granted, this chapter is... perhaps the most emotional in this fic. I made Graceful Lioness tear up, which is a feat. 
> 
> TW: discussion of parental death and grief

**Late Spring 2016**

Scalding water beat down on Hermione's bare back, though the heat pelting on her skin was nothing compared to the heat currently spreading through her, short-circuiting her nerve endings from her abdomen out to all her extremities. She'd long finished washing her body and was now chasing sweeter pursuits.

A waterproof vibrator had been among her better investments in recent months. After her short stint with Cormac last year, she'd gone without sex for far too long. Those had been dark months, when she'd considered doing a number of unthinkable things.

The first few times she'd gotten the urge to scratch that particular itch, she'd downloaded and then deleted several dating apps.

Her fingers had done the trick that time.

Then, when the urge returned with a vengeance, she'd thought about calling Cormac. Actually considered it, even though he was the biggest shithead she'd ever met in her life. She thought about it, dialed his number, and stared at the screen of her phone for nearly ten minutes before tossing the device on her bed and collapsing beside it with a groan.

Finally, most recently, and worst of all, she'd typed out several variations of the same awkward text to Draco.

_I know we're not supposed to do this, but I'm at wit's end._

_Can you eat me out? Just once? Please? I need it so, so badly and I remember exactly how good you are with your mouth._

_I'm horny. Come over?_

This was her breaking point.

Hermione screamed into her pillow. When her throat began to protest, she swiped up to close the app and immediately drowned her self-loathing in three quarters of a bottle of wine. When the alcohol finally bolstered her courage enough, she clicked the order button on a cart full of toys.

They arrived in discreet packaging on her doorstep four days later, on a _Friday_ no less. She had theoretical plans to go out that weekend. Drop by Tesco. Run to the pharmacy. Go to the gym. Maybe take a walk in a nearby park.

All of that fell to the wayside from the moment one of her new toys was charged up.

A vibrator or dildo was not a true substitute for the real deal, but their true advantages lay in something far less physical: Sex toys didn't come with emotional complications.

That, in itself, was worth every pound she'd spent on them.

Beneath the spray, Hermione pressed the vibrator deeper against her clit. She braced her hand against the tile wall, fingers scraping as if trying to grab hold of a phantom partner who wasn't there.

Conjured images swirled around her mind as she tightened her muscles, trying to pull her orgasm closer.

Lips on her pulse point. They were trailing down, down, down, until they reached her breasts. Hermione moved the hand that was set against the wall to knead one in her palm, pinching her nipple as she imagined it to be someone's lips, teeth, tongue…

She gasped as pleasure began to spike, but doubled down on her imaginings, eager to see them through.

In her mind's eye, this faceless man would dip his fingers into her, taking care to put just the right amount of delicious pressure right where her vibrator was touching. Then, when she was practically dripping, he'd hoist her, arms wrapping around her thighs as her legs wrapped around his waist.

Hermione leaned against the cold tiles, trying to recreate the sensation of what it would actually be like to have sex in this shower. The man would lean his forehead against hers as he pumped in and out, taking just enough of his sweet time to drive her wild. He'd lift her chin to look into her eyes as they neared their mutual finish, his mouth full of sweet nothings.

Suddenly, the faceless man in her imagination wasn't so faceless any more. The eyes looking into hers would be grey and warm, and the lovely mouth would be wearing the ghost of a smirk. When he'd finished murmuring in her ear, he'd find her lips and kiss her sweetly as his cock continued to push inside her, dragging against her walls until they both…

Hermione's jaw fell open and she let out a stilted cry as she fell toward oblivion.

Alone.

As her orgasm ebbed, Hermione became aware that the scalding hot water was beginning to cool slightly. She shivered and turned to flick the tap off.

Then she grabbed her fluffy purple towel, wrapped herself in it, and stepped out of the shower, taking care to set her well-loved waterproof vibrator next to her bathroom sink.

The orgasm had given her a momentary reprieve from the stress of real life, which she could avoid as long as she stayed in the bathroom. Unfortunately, there was much to get done today, and it could not wait.

All business now, Hermione slipped her towel from her body and used it to dry her curls, which clung to the still-damp skin on her neck and shoulders. As she squeezed her hair, she looked at herself in the slowly unfogging mirror.

She expected herself to have the hooded eyes of someone who'd been recently sated. It's how she often looked after her toys gave her such a thorough orgasm. Subtle smile. Warm expression. Rosy flush splashed on her cheeks. In other words, she expected to see contentment.

But the face that looked back at her in the mirror wasn't content at all. There were no hooded eyes or blushes in the reflection she saw. Instead, she was paler than normal. Her mouth had slipped into a dissatisfied frown and her eyes felt cold, somehow.

That's how it always seemed to be recently. No matter what she tried, she just wasn't happy. All she felt was constantly compounding stress.

Stress, and loneliness.

It was to be expected in a year like this—a year that was just one away from their next and probably last shot at the Olympics. These days, even just one week into the new training season, her life consisted of little more than hours spent at the rink and in the gym. She was still taking a single uni-level class in an attempt to keep her eventual degree progressing, but even that was causing her to pull her hair out a bit.

There always seemed to be a wall between her and her classmates. They were regular students, and she was an internationally-known skater who had been featured in no less than eight television commercials. When everyone else chatted about hitting up a local pub after classes, she was left to quietly gather her belongings and head back to the gym or the rink to stay on top of her training.

They didn't really greet her when she came to class, nor did they wave or say goodbye when she left.

In that part of her life, she was practically invisible.

In all other parts of her life, not so much.

The charity event in Paris placed both her and Draco in the limelight once more, and ever since her return from France, her whole life had fallen under scrutiny from the press. Paparazzi followed her to the grocery store, to school, to the rink. One of them even followed her into a public bathroom once.

On that particular occasion, she called the police.

As a result of all the nonsense with the press, Hermione had taken to staying cooped up at home whenever she could. Home was nice, yes, but being at home also meant being alone.

Since moving out of the flat she shared with Draco, Hermione became all-too-aware of her complete and utter lack of a social life. She had a handful of friends, but none of the contacts in her phone other than Draco were people she'd consider texting if she had exciting news to share or insecurities to admit.

All in all, it was an entirely lonely existence.

Hermione had talked to Draco about some of this, and he sympathised greatly, but she'd also been trying to establish boundaries between the two of them. No matter what her subconscious was telling her that she wanted, Draco wasn't her boyfriend. He was her friend and professional skating partner and therefore, it wasn't healthy to rely on him entirely for the emotional support she needed. No matter how much she wanted to lean on him, there was still a wide gulf between them. They'd come so far, and yet there was still so much work to do if they wanted to get back to where they had been.

Hermione wasn't even sure if she wanted to go back there. It was all so confusing.

Of course, there was always Mum. But she was so busy these days with the dental practice that Hermione didn't want to bother her with complaints of yet another photographer pestering her when she was in line at Starbucks or when she felt the walls of her house pressing in on her.

Her lack of ability to talk to anyone about her stress only made it worse. It was a depressingly vicious cycle, and Hermione was simply sick of it.

She needed to talk to someone. Someone who would listen without judgment. Someone who could give good advice. And if she was being completely honest with herself, the one person she thought of who could do all that was Dad.

But talking to him wasn't an option for obvious reasons.

She needed him, but he wasn't there.

It almost hurt to admit it out loud. Although nearly nine years had passed since Dad died, Hermione still hadn't gotten to the stage of grief everyone assured she'd eventually find—the one where she'd make peace with it all and be able to speak of him fondly with a smile on her face. Nearly every time she thought about her dad, a painful lump formed in her throat and she had to stop herself from dwelling on it for too long for fear that she might cry. Nine years ago, after the initial mourning period passed, she'd thrown herself fully into skating as a distraction.

And it had worked. Mostly. She'd been so exhausted most days that there wasn't time to think of the hole in her life that he'd left behind. And she preferred it that way.

The last time she'd allowed herself to break down over her dad was all those years ago, when _God Only Knows_ started playing at the bar where she'd gotten drinks with Viktor. It had been a low point—one that Draco had helped her through. But she had yet to revisit the utter devastation she'd felt that night.

Part of Hermione knew it was only a matter of time before it all bubbled to the surface once more, and perhaps this great weight of loneliness and her desire to talk with him was a sign that the time was fast approaching.

She wasn't sure she was ready to talk about her dad or think about him, so she did what she did best: push it all down again.

Besides, who knew if he would actually have any good ideas about how to handle paparazzi or being in love with your best friend? Maybe his advice would be shit. Maybe it would make her roll her eyes and make her wish she'd never asked in the first place.

Hermione only wished she had the opportunity to find out.

Still, Hermione doubted that today was the day she'd finally be able to tackle her grief.

After dressing in her usual athletic trousers and zip-up, Hermione grabbed her duffel bag, downed a protein shake quickly and headed for the front door, keys in hand. She couldn't be late to the rink. Today was an important day. Probably among the most critical of the year. It was the day they'd make their song selections for the upcoming season—the season that would set the tone for the upcoming Olympic year. Severus would be there today, along with a creative coach from British Ice Skating and a choreographer they'd worked with before, Lee Jordan.

Just thinking about it made her exhausted already.

Thankfully, there were no photographers in sight when she left her house. She sat behind the wheel of her car and turned the radio on as she drove across town to get to iceSheffield.

They were all set to meet in a conference room that was adjacent to the rink. Keys clutched in her hand, her feet carried her through the front door and toward the back of the building where she had been due several minutes earlier.

When she stepped through the threshold into the conference room, everyone was already there and discussing something. They all sat around an oblong table made of small, combinable parts. Chairs swiveled to face a portable white board. Severus had written out a makeshift ten-month calendar with deadlines and competition dates already filled in. He'd left one corner of the board blank, save for the words SONG CHOICES written in his tight scrawl.

"Ah, Miss Granger. Thank you for joining us." The British Ice Skating creative coach was the first to spot her as she slipped into the room. All heads immediately turned, eyes finding hers.

Among them, grey eyes.

The image her mind had conjured this morning in the shower flashed past her vision. Fingers working her into a frenzy. Cock pounding into her. Eyes that held her gaze and saw right into the deepest part of her as she fell over the edge.

She felt her neck flush with heat as she stood in the doorway. "Good morning. Sorry I'm running a bit late."

"Not to worry, not to worry." The creative coach waved her off as she made her way over to the table. Draco pulled out the chair beside him and motioned for her to sit. Her eyes lingered on his fingers as they curled around the top of the chair. He really did have nice fingers.

Hermione shook herself mentally, offering what she hoped was a nonchalant smile before perching herself on the edge of the seat as the coach continued. "Now, as I was saying, this year's Short Dance has been limited to two minutes and forty seconds, and the ISU has said that we can choose from Rhumba, Mambo, Cha Cha, Salsa, Merengue, Samba, Bachata, or any other related Latin American Rhythm. Do we have any ideas?"

The coach looked around the table with raised eyebrows and a bright, expectant look on his face, and was met with several long seconds of silence.

"We could always go the classical route," Draco suggested with a shrug. "There are some lovely Spanish composers to choose from. Or we could pick a film score piece."

It was a very Draco-like suggestion. He'd always been a big fan of the more traditional route when it came to song choice.

"This year's rhythms are meant to be alluring and exciting." Severus spoke up from his spot across from them at the table. "I think it would be more prudent to choose something that will push the envelope, so to speak. You've performed so many Compulsory and Original Dances like the kind you're suggesting in the past, and I think you'd be making a mistake by staying in that box. The Short Dance needs to grab the attention of the judges and the Free Dance will seal your fate."

It was true. In the past, the dances that had gotten the most attention and praise had been those that, as Severus put it, pushed the envelope. Their best routines showcased their chemistry, and Latin dance was an excellent opportunity for that. Hermione's imagination set to work once more, replaying several years' worth of dances they'd done. She remembered the way audiences screamed when Draco put his hands all over her as a part of the choreography and the high scores they received from judges when they put their chemistry on full display out on the ice. If the mandated styles of this year's Short Dance were any indication, this was another season to pull out those big guns.

"I agree with Severus," she piped up. "We need something that will really stick with the judges and audience. The Short Dance is so often overlooked. Let's make this one memorable."

A series of nods passed around the table.

Draco sighed as Severus finished making his point. He lifted his hands to relent. "Fine, fine. Out of the box it is. Any other ideas, then?"

"I was thinking," the choreographer, Lee, piped up, "What about something modern? Something on the charts that everyone will know?"

No one had any objections to this, and Lee hooked up his phone to a bluetooth speaker and started scrolling through lists of the last few years' top hits. Occasionally, he'd throw out a song title. Draco and Hermione had the first say, as it was their routine. If they approved, they stood and walked to a small spot that had been cleared in one half of the conference room. Lee made up a short snippet of a routine on the spot, and the two of them tested the waters.

 _Cheap Thrills_ was a bust, as was _Fireball_. ("That last one was far too inappropriate," Severus commented with a sneer).

Hermione had to agree. Not just because of the lyrics, but because of the choreography suggested by Lee. It was just lewd enough that Hermione was having trouble pushing visions from this morning from her mind. She tried to mask her arousal and confusion, but she was almost certain Draco noticed. The looks he shot in her direction between songs were just enough to rouse suspicion.

That was the last thing she wanted, to be caught with a crush in rehearsal like this, especially with all these witnesses. She wasn't ready for anyone to know of her resurfacing feelings for Draco when she didn't know what they meant, herself.

Especially when a relationship with him was unattainable. Impossible.

The ever-present loneliness that always seemed to dog her these days clawed its way up the back of her throat. She shoved it aside as Lee suggested yet another song.

 _Sorry_ came up next. Hermione watched as Lee made tiny movements with his body, as if testing its danceability. The creative consultant squinted at the wall, clearly concentrating and trying to picture the possibilities of the song. Severus sat stock-still, eyes closed. Draco's head moved to the beat, his finger tapping out a syncopated beat on the tabletop. As they sat around the table listening, Lee's face grew more and more excited with each passing second. After the first chorus, he paused the music on his phone and looked around the room with a grin, his body practically vibrating. "This would make the _perfect_ bachata."

The dancer within her needed no more convincing to give it a shot.

Lee ran through his brief idea for choreography and the two of them followed just behind him, heads turned to the side in an attempt to copy his footwork. When they had the basics down, Lee stepped back to his phone and pressed play.

Hermione turned her neck so she was facing Draco fully. He turned at the same time, and their eyes met as his hand tightened on her lower back. She felt the pads of his fingers press against her spine through her shirt, and the memory of her imaginings from this morning filled her mind for a split second. Hand and lips everywhere…

She could smell his aftershave, and it was intoxicating.

Draco peered at her with an unspoken question in his grey eyes. His curiosity and concern only added to her own confusion. It was almost too much. Hermione bit her lip and felt another blush stain her cheeks.

She really needed to talk to someone about this. Sort it all out. Because she wasn't sure how much more she could take without combusting.

Still, she had to focus. She had to be professional.

Hermione took a great breath in through her nose in an attempt to clear the blush from her skin and calm electricity rushing through her veins.

When the music started, even in her distracted state, Hermione could tell that this song was different from the others they'd tried. There was something about the melody and rhythm that just seemed… right. The bachata choreography felt natural with the song, and their movements flowed like water.

A quick Google search that uncovered both a pared down, intimate remix as well as a Spanish version sealed the deal. It was the recipe for the perfect Short Dance.

"Very good," Severus spoke up from his spot at the table when they'd run through the snippet three times. "We'll be able to come up with a strong storyline for the dance this year. The song lends itself to that."

It was nice to have the stamp of approval from their coach, though it was admittedly odd to watch him bob his head to a Justin Bieber song.

With a bit of a flourish, Severus popped off the cap of a dry erase marker and scrawled _Sorry_ under the blank SONG CHOICES box.

"That leaves the matter of your Free Dance," he said, sitting back at the table. "Whatever you choose should be in contrast to your Short Dance to make a statement. As always, the time limit is four minutes. Thoughts?"

Hermione had vaguely given it some thought, but all the compounding stress from sidestepping journalists and trying to distract herself from unwelcome feelings left her with a list that was completely blank.

Luckily, and to no one's surprise, Draco came with an extensive list.

"I was thinking." He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and opened it with a small flourish. "It's been a while since we did a truly classical piece. And I've been listening to a lot of Rachmaninoff recently."

The creative coach leaned closer, placing his elbow on the table and resting his chin on that hand.

Severus turned down the corner of his lips as though expressing interest in the idea.

While the rest of their team seemed immediately on board, the idea left Hermione cold. She liked classical music, certainly. It had moved her to tears in the past. But like Severus said earlier, they'd danced to plenty of classical songs throughout their career. It took a lot of effort to come up with a storyline for them, and while they were beautiful, Hermione was sure that the audience found it generally harder to connect to the piece.

No, for a year as important as this, that sort of song selection wasn't good enough. That's what her instincts were telling her.

By the time Hermione's hearing came back into focus, the group was already discussing which Rachmaninoff piece in particular to choose.

She cleared her throat.

The chatter died away as all four men turned to face her.

"No." Hermione shook her head and folded her arms. "Rachmaninoff isn't nearly enough. We've got to really wow the audience and the judges. Connect with them."

Lee muttered in agreement and the coach shifted in his seat as he considered her words. Draco's disappointment, however, was obvious. He scrunched up his mouth before turning back to the folded paper still in his hand. Even after all these years, he still got defensive when Hermione disagreed with his creative ideas.

But he always listened.

"Well then, Hermione, what do you suggest?" Severus looked down his hooked nose at her, gaze thick with expectation.

She had nothing to offer but a shake of the head and a vague shrug. "I'm… not sure. But that's not it."

Draco swiveled in his chair to face her, reaching out to place a hand on hers.

A shiver ran up her spine, but she held steady.

"Are you okay, Hermione? Where's your list? Normally by now you've inundated us with at least eight song choices and I hate most of them."

She forced herself to roll her eyes and play it cool. "It's nothing. I've just been… distracted recently is all."

Draco knew about the paparazzi issues she'd been having. He was no stranger to the problem, himself. The only difference was that he grew up in the limelight and didn't seem bothered by it nearly as much as she did. He didn't keep himself holed up at home.

That, perhaps, is why he offered a soft look of sympathy.

But Draco didn't know everything. She'd been maintaining a slight distance—one that included not telling her best friend that she was still in love with him.

He didn't need to know that.

"Is there anything I can do?" Draco pressed. "I could help you brainstorm."

Hermione shook her head. "No, that's okay. I think… Maybe just a little time to think?"

Lee clapped his hands together. "Excellent idea, Hermione. I don't know about you lot, but I could use a coffee."

Severus, Lee, and the coach all shuffled from the room, leaving Draco and Hermione sitting in their swivel chairs by themselves.

"Want to take a walk? Get some fresh air?" Draco stood and held out his hand with a light smile.

Hermione offered a closed-lipped smile in return. "Yeah. Okay." She accepted Draco's hand, but as soon as she was on her feet, she let go.

Professional. She needed to be professional.

They exited the conference room together and made their way across the outside of the rink toward the entrance. A few younger skaters were out on the ice with their own coaches. A few stopped to wave. They had all been starstruck at one point when they realised exactly who else was training at their home rink, but over time, the children had gotten used to seeing two international champions wandering about the building.

Outside, the crisp Spring air filled Hermione's lungs. She must have been blushing a bit, because the air felt especially refreshing against her warm cheeks.

"So how are you really?" Draco asked once that sat on a small set of stairs beside the entrance. "It might have been awhile since we spent nearly every waking moment together, but I still know you, Hermione. Something's bothering you."

"Bothering me? I don't know what you're talking about." Perhaps if she deflected enough, Draco would drop the investigation. They could talk about the Free Dance or the weather or anything that wouldn't disturb the delicate balance she'd created in her mind. It was like a towering stack of blocks, stable when each block was placed _just right,_ but easily knocked down.

"Oh, come off it. You told me yourself two weeks ago that you've been having trouble with the paparazzi like I have. One followed me all the way through Tesco last week. Did I tell you? I think they wanted to see if I was buying anything scandalous."

"What, like condoms?" Hermione rolled her eyes, though her insides sank at the thought.

"I was imagining something more along the lines of hemorrhoid creme."

The serious expression on Draco's face made a single laugh fall from her lips, and for a moment, they were just two kids, hanging out together at skate practice, pushing each other's buttons and excited at the possibility of ice cream or swimming after they got off the ice.

But then Draco reached for her hand again, and along with the pounding of her heart in her chest came the reminder that they were very much so not children anymore.

"Tell me it hasn't been as bad for you." Draco turned his head, clearly searching for her eyes. "Have photographers still been following you? Is that what's wrong?"

Hermione shrugged. "One followed me into a public bathroom a few days ago. I called the police."

Draco drew back, eyes wide with sudden alarm. "Are you taking the mickey out of me, Hermione? Are you serious? The police? Why didn't you tell me?"

She shrugged again. "It got resolved quickly. I didn't want to worry you. Besides, I think that was the day you were filming the commercial with Underarmour."

"That must have been so terrifying. Tell me you at least spent the night somewhere else. With a friend."

Hermione bit her lip. She wanted to bite out, " _What friends?"_ but thought better of it. "I changed my locks," she offered.

Draco sighed. "Well, next time, call me at least. I don't care if I'm busy. I want to be there for you."

Beside them, in a nearby bush, Hermione heard a soft rustling. It was likely chipmunks or rabbits, but she turned to look just in case. She wanted a distraction from the emotional response Draco was clearly hoping to get from her. When she saw nothing there, she had no choice but to turn her head back to face him.

She was met by grey eyes.

"I know you want to be there for me. And you are. It's just… I—" The way Draco was looking at her was enough to make her speech falter and her heart beat even faster. She thought for one, brief moment of revealing everything. How her feelings for him were still strong. How they never really left in the first place. How she nearly called him for sex and how she got off in the shower this morning to thoughts of him.

She thought about it.

Chances were, he might feel the same. He might even be thrilled. But they had made a promise to Dr. Puddifoot and themselves to be professional and put some distance between their intimately tangled lives.

The words died on her tongue and were replaced with a lesser version of the whole truth.

"I just sometimes feel a bit lonely is all."

Draco's arms were around her in an instant. His chin rested on top of her head as he pulled her into his chest. Through the shirt he was wearing, Hermione could hear his heart beating a soothing rhythm. "You don't need to be lonely, Hermione. I'm always here."

But that was the problem, wasn't it? He was always there in her mind, keeping her company whether she wanted it or not. Did she haunt his every waking moment the way he did for her? If she didn't, it wasn't fair, and if she did…

That was a ticking time bomb.

"I know you are."

She should move. Pull her hand away. His face was so close to hers, only centimetres away. If either of them leaned in, just a little, their lips would easily be able to meet.

Was that what Draco wanted? Was it what _she_ wanted? What would happen if they kissed? Would they fall into an unhealthy pattern of sleeping together again? Or would it be different this time?

Worries and questions swirled around Hermione's head. All the while, Draco's breath was growing warm on her neck. He was _right there._

"Hermione…" Her name came out as hardly more than a whisper. His eyes were hooded in a way she hadn't seen in over two years. It was a look that went beyond desire or arousal.

It looked a lot like—

"Draco! Hermione! Over here!"

From out of the bushes popped, not a chipmunk or rabbit, but a photographer. Hermione heard the telltale clicking of a shutter, and all the walls that had been coming down within her now reformed with reinforced steel. Panic reared its ugly head in her chest as two other photographers appeared out of nowhere, practically corning them on the steps.

On instinct, she jumped to her feet. She had to get away. Get out of here, far, far away from where photographers would find her. She was so bloody tired of being followed wherever she went. So tired of having to feel her brain and heart wage a war. So tired of having no one to lean on but the one person to whom she couldn't be wholly truthful.

And to think she had almost just kissed him in front of the press!

The realisation only sent her panic spiraling higher. "I've got to go," she blurted, letting go of Draco's hand. "I… I'm sorry. Tell Severus… everyone that I'm sorry."

Before she could even stop to hear Draco out when he shouted, "Hermione, wait!", she took off back across the car park to her car. Hurdling inside, she pressed the ignition, put the car in reverse, and pulled out of the car park before she could second guess herself.

On the car ride home, her panic ebbed and flowed as she tried to formulate a plan. She could technically stay at home, but the thought of more photographers or even Draco coming to find her brought on a new wave of panic, so she quickly abandoned that idea.

She needed to go somewhere that made her feel safe and comforted. Somewhere she wouldn't be lonely and where she could have the space to think through the very overwhelming moment she'd just experienced.

Hermione pulled onto the street where she lived and parallel parked in front of her house. Once she put the car in park, she just sat in the driver's seat for a few minutes, leaning her head against the seat with her eyes closed and breathing deeply.

What she needed was someone to hug her and tell her that it was all going to be all right.

 _Who_ she needed was Dad.

Though she'd only thought of him just this morning, the realisation hit her like a wave of icy water.

She needed Dad. Needed him more than she'd possibly ever needed him.

And he wasn't there.

Hermione's jaw clenched with the effort of holding back angry tears. She would not cry in her car in front of her house. Not when there could be photographers. This was the kind of cry she needed to have in private.

Yet, it was also not the kind of cry she wanted to suffer through alone.

Suddenly, it became clear exactly what she needed to do. Without wasting another second, Hermione got out of her car and strode toward her front door. Once inside, she grabbed a small suitcase from the hall closet and began piling a weekend's worth of clothing and toiletries inside. Then, with her phone, she purchased a train ticket.

She didn't cry all during the train ride to North London. With great effort, she held it together as she sat in her seat and watched the English countryside fly by. She held it together when she caught a taxicab from the Hadley Wood Railway Station to her destination. She even held it together as she fumbled with the key she still carried with her own house key and car fob.

The moment she stepped into her childhood home, it was as though the floodgates opened. The smell hit her first: the scent of wooden beams above and the laundry soap Mum had always used. It smelled familiar. Comforting.

Next, she was confronted by the walls. Nearly every inch was lined with framed photos taken through the years. Photos of her skating. Of her birthday parties. Of Mum and Dad's wedding day.

Hermione traced her dad's face in that particular photograph, which hung above the foyer table by the front door. He was smiling at Mum in it, the perfect picture of blissful happiness. It was the same smile that she sometimes saw in her dreams, lopsided and warm. Looking at him brought a lump to her throat.

What was it that she'd thought all those years ago?

Dad only lived on in photographs now.

Along the wall she saw him slowly age, growing from a young newlywed to a loving father. There were photographs of him holding her as a baby, feeding a giraffe together with her on a family trip to the London Zoo, and posing with a bouquet of flowers after a performance of The Nutcracker. Above the mantle was one taken by Draco after one of their ice dancing competitions. Dad was balanced precariously on the ice in his shoes and was gazing down at her with pride and admiration in his eyes. She was looking right back up at him, smiling so hard that dimples formed on her cheeks.

"Hi, Dad," Hermione murmured, brushing the glass with her fingertips. "I'm home."

She couldn't fight the tears any longer, and didn't really want to. After years of biting them back, swallowing them, and trying to push them down, something told her that now was finally the time to cry.

Her jaw tightened and a flush crept across her face as hot, salty tears poured down her cheeks. Just a few fell at first, dripping down her chin and landing far below on the carpet. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and that was the last she took before great sobs took over her. Her knees felt weak. She sank to the floor in front of the mantle, drawing her legs to her chest and burying her face against them.

Dad was everywhere in this house. Reminders littered the walls. The indent on the couch where he used to sit. The very smell she'd first sensed as soon as she entered. It'd been him who picked out the laundry soap after everything else gave him hives. Grief swallowed her whole. It consumed her, finally releasing after years of hibernating in the deepest recesses of her heart.

It was terrible. Devastating. Cathartic.

She cried harder.

Her whole body shook as tears soaked the knees of her athletic trousers. Hiccups jolted her torso when she tried to catch her breath, but they didn't stop her from crying.

She missed Dad. Missed him so much it physically ached. It was him she needed to talk to and lean on, and it made her chest ache even more to know that every question she would ever have for him would go unanswered.

How long Hermione sat on the floor, she wasn't sure. The sun eventually cast a bright, orange light over her hunched form, shining through her tear-blurred eyelids. Evening was fast approaching. Mum would be home soon. She hadn't sent a text message to let her know she was coming like she probably should have.

Hermione couldn't bring herself to care. She hardly even had the energy to crawl from the floor up to the couch. When she'd finally hoisted her body onto the cushions, she closed her eyes and fell into a fitful sleep in the slowly darkening room, dreaming of a very large hand holding her small one. They were walking. Just walking. She couldn't quite tell where they were or where they were going, but Hermione knew, somehow, that she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

It felt warm. Safe.

She slept soundly until gentle pressure on her shoulder roused her. Inhaling deeply through her nose, she blinked into awareness. It was now dark outside, and the only source of light was the lamp on the end table next to the couch. It was chilly as well. She groped around for some sort of blanket to pull over her. When she found none, her mind drifted further into awareness. How long had she been asleep?

"Hermione?" A soft, familiar voice came from beside her. She turned her head to see Mum kneeling in front of the couch, brows knit with worry. "What on Earth are you doing here?"

"Mum… 'm sorry." Hermione rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands in a childlike way. "Should have called."

"Oh no, darling. It's fine. What… what are you doing here?"

The near-silent hum of the house filled Hermione's ears as she searched for the right words. The ticking of clocks. The slight thrum of the heater, which had just turned on.

Hermione swallowed and sighed, and as though she could read the signs of her daughter's distress, Mum moved from her spot on the carpet to sit on the couch, where she began to gently stroke her hair. The touch was so light, and yet, so full of love. It nearly brought tears to Hermione's eyes again.

She sniffed and looked up at the mantle, where Dad stared adoringly at her younger self.

"I… I just needed you, Mum." She gave a shaky sigh and laid her head on Mum's shoulder. "I miss Dad and I needed you."

Hermione was met immediately with Mum's arms as they wrapped around her.

"Oh, Hermione," Mum whispered into her curls. "I miss him, too. Every day."

Memories flooded Hermione's mind—ones she'd tried to put behind her. Memories of Mum after Dad's funeral, pale and empty, never leaving her bedroom for weeks on end.

"After…" Hermione's voice trailed off, not quite sure how to ask the question on her mind. "How did you feel better? I saw how much it affected you, and I… I was so worried."

Mum was openly weeping now, and Hermione wasn't surprised to feel wetness on her cheeks as well.

"I'm sorry I worried you back then, Hermione. Grief… it does funny things to people. It shut me down, almost completely. I should have had the strength to get out of bed and take care of you, but it was like I woke up with this… _weight_ on my chest every morning. It was a weight that only got heavier when I looked on the other side of the bed and your dad wasn't there." Mum's face crumbled, and for several long seconds, she just cried. Then she gave a great sniff and tried to pull herself together.

"It took a long time, but one day, I woke up and even though the weight was still there, somehow, it wasn't so heavy that it kept me lying down. Weeks and months passed and the weight felt lighter and lighter." She paused and moved her hand to push a stray strand of hair out of Hermione's face. "It's still there every single morning, but either it's gotten smaller or I've gotten stronger."

Mum placed her hand on Hermione's cheek, and their eyes met. "But I was always so worried when you never talked to me about him. I thought that maybe that's how you processed your grief, by staying busy, and that one day you'd come to me and we could finally talk. And you never did, so I thought that maybe you were fine, and that you were just better at handling all this than I was."

Hermione shook her head in Mum's shoulder. "I'm really not. I just… it's like you said. I kept busy. I… didn't think about Dad. But he'd have wanted me to think about him. Wouldn't he?"

She felt Mum's head move in what she thought was a nod. "Yes, Hermione. He wouldn't want you to feel trapped by your grief. Your dad… he was the most vivacious person I have ever known. That's where you get your adventurous, ambitious side from. He would want you to stay busy, not to forget something difficult, but to live despite those difficulties."

A warmth spread through Hermione as Mum held her, rocking back and forth slightly. It took a while for their tears to dry, and when they did, words came spilling out of her mouth as she told Mum all about the recent stressors in her life. The paparazzi following her. The pressure to have a perfect season.

The fact that she was completely in love with Draco and had no idea what to do about it.

When she finally fell silent, Mum gently nudged Hermione off her lap, stood, and walked to the kitchen. She returned two minutes later with a chilled bottle of white and two glasses.

Hermione gladly accepted a full pour.

"I'll be the first to admit that I don't know what to do about paparazzi. That's not exactly my strong suit. But I will say, there's power in numbers. Maybe you could call a friend and travel as a pack to get to places? Do you think there's anyone who would do that for you?"

Hermione mentally flicked through the contacts list in her phone. There were plenty of people on it, but they barely reached out to one another for casual conversation. Still, Ginny and Harry were there. Harry would definitely understand the situation. Ron was on her list as well. Pansy, who she'd gotten to know over the years. Perhaps, if she just reached out and asked…

And Draco. Draco would always come to her aid.

"I think so," she answered, a faint smile at the corner of her lips. "Yes, I'll… see what I can do on that front."

"Good." Mum took a long sip from her wine glass. "And in regards to pressure for this upcoming year, that was more in your father's wheelhouse. He took the lead on your skating career." Mum scrunched her lips together as if thinking. "Just know that the people who really care about you, they'll still be here no matter how you do. Work hard and do your best, but at the end of the day, if you lose, just think—no more paparazzi!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Thanks for that. Next."

"Next is your dilemma about Draco."

Hermione felt a blush flood her cheeks for what felt like the hundredth time today. "Maybe we could just forget about that one? I'm not sure—"

"Oh no, Hermione. I think this is the most important one of all." Mum shot her a pointed look exacerbated by the nearly full glass of wine she'd had by now. "I think we absolutely need to talk about how you just admitted to being in love with your best friend."

Hermione groaned and buried her face in her hands. "Can we not?"

"I'm afraid we're going to have to, Bug. You may be twenty-six, but you're still my daughter."

Hermione practically flung herself against the back cushions of the couch and lolled her head. "Fine, fine. Lay it on me, Mum. What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"My idea is pretty simple, really."

Even though Hermione wasn't looking, she could tell Mum was fighting a smile.

"Oh? And what's that?"

"Tell him."

Hermione turned her head to offer a deadpan expression. "Really?"

"Really. If what you say is true—about everything you've been through, including the part where he admitted to loving you two years ago—then I'd say you have a good shot."

Hermione swirled the wine around her glass, keeping her eyes trained on the liquid. "What if… what if I don't want to be?"

There was a brief pause before Mum responded. "If you don't want to what?"

"If I—" Hermione filled her lungs and licked her lips. "—if I don't want to be in love with Draco?"

She could practically hear the gears turning in Mum's head. "You don't want…? Hermione, what's going on?"

"It's just… I don't want to lose him. I don't want to love someone and know that it'll all have an expiration date." The corners of her eyes stung with more unshed tears as she looked up at Mum, whose brows were furrowed.

"Is this about winding down your skating career? Do you not think he'd want to stay with you after you're out of the public eye? I mean, he was rather shallow as a child, but I think he's grown beyond that, don't you?"

Hermione wasn't sure whether to laugh or not as she shook her head vehemently. "No, Mum. Not that. Draco isn't—he wouldn't stop being my… _friend_ just because we're done skating."

"Then I'm afraid that I don't know what you're talking about, Bug."

Hermione sighed. This was the hardest thing. The thing she didn't want to admit. It was her most-guarded thought. The source of her biggest worry and most deep-seated shame. To voice it out loud to the woman who gave her that fear in the first place was enough to make her want to pack up and take the next train back to Sheffield.

But this was her mum. She could say something, right? Her voice came out as a strangled whisper.

"I don't want love if it's just going to end one day." She swallowed, searching for the strength to say what needed to be said. "Like… Dad."

The expression on Mum's face faltered in the most heartbreaking way imaginable. Her lip wobbled, but when Hermione got the courage to look her mum in the eye, she saw they were shining with determination.

"Hermione, when your dad died, it broke me. I won't lie about that. What you saw during that time was me at the lowest I have ever been. But let me tell you this: Never, for one minute, have I regretted loving your dad. The pain of losing him was unimaginable, yes, but I wouldn't trade one second of loving him to lessen that pain."

Hermione blinked. "You wouldn't?" In her mind's eye, she saw Mum, lying in her bed for weeks on end. Refusing to eat. Refusing to shower. Refusing to live.

"It's true, the ones we love eventually leave us. Or we leave them. That's something we rarely have control over." Mum shook her head with a sigh. "And I know that's scary, Hermione. It's terrifying. But real, true love is worth it all. That's what a well-lived life is all about. And if I know you and Draco as well as I think I do, then it'll be worth it."

Hermione felt like a child as she whispered, "And what if he says no? That he doesn't love me?"

Mum sighed and placed a hand on her back. "Then you can close that chapter of your life. And you can decide what that means for your skating career as well. Your wellbeing is far more important than any medal you could possibly win."

It was sound advice, to be sure. The kind of advice she'd expect from a parent. Obvious, but necessary to hear from an outside source.

"Anything else on your mind, Bug?"

Hermione shook her head. This was enough for now. It was what she had needed. Now… she just wanted to savour the feeling of not being lonely. Of having someone there beside her.

"Very good." Mum downed the rest of her glass of wine and sat up. "There's a new episode of Strictly Come Dancing on tonight. Want to order takeaway and critique everything?"

~*~*~*~

When she woke up the next morning in her childhood bedroom, surrounded by trinkets that held some of her most precious memories, she felt more refreshed than she had in some time. There were no paparazzi waiting for her on her commute. No training to attend. All that was back in Sheffield, and she had today and tomorrow to shelter herself from that mess.

Feeling productive, Hermione asked Mum over a big fry-up if there was anything she could help with while she was visiting. Mum seemed a little overly-gleeful that she had asked, and it wasn't hard to see why. Immediately following breakfast, she led Hermione upstairs to the attic.

The very dusty, overcrowded, and jumbled attic.

"I've been meaning to get around to sorting out this room," Mum explained through a cloud of dust that appeared between two mountains of boxes. "But time always gets ahead of me. Maybe this would help you feel productive."

She was sure that Mum meant it as a half-joke, but Hermione was undaunted. Rolling up her sleeves, she committed to the task and dug in.

There was something soothing about sorting things. Putting things where they belonged. Ridding the house of unnecessary items like long-broken lamps and stacks of receipts from twenty years ago.

Among the stacks of boxes, Hermione found a few treasures that she set aside. There was a box of awards she'd won in childhood, as well as her very first pair of ballet slippers. They were so tiny, and practically fit in the palm of her hand. Hermione smiled down at them and caressed the soft pink leather with her fingertips before placing them gently with her other pile of items to save.

Mum brought her a sandwich and glass of water around lunch time, but she didn't stop sorting, even as she bit into the food. As she worked, she put the music from her phone in hopes of coming up with ideas for this season's Free Dance.

Dust flew in the air as she opened box after box, revealing shoulder-padded nightmares of Mum's from the Eighties and some truly horrific jumpers that belonged to Dad around the same time.

It was supposed to hurt, thinking of Dad. It always had, every single time she'd done it in the last nine years.

But for some reason, as she stared at the mustard yellow disaster that she now held at arm's length, Hermione laughed.

"Oh, your dad wore that on our first date!" Mum gushed as she appeared by the attic stairs, mug of tea in hand. "He looked so handsome."

"Handsome?" Hermione flourished the jumper. "In this?"

"Oh, yes. He wore that and some brown bell-bottomed trousers. He was the height of coolness."

Memories flooded her mind. Memories of Dad's awful puns at the dinner table and the silly antics he used to soothe young patients in his dentist's office. Memories of the truly heinous Christmas jumpers he used to wear in December and the way he made loving but embarrassing signs for every single skating competition.

For the first time in a long while, those memories made her smile.

"Cool? Dad? Are you sure we're talking about the same person?"

Mum shot her a significant look before setting down the mug of tea on an unopened box. She then crossed the room and stooped, clearly trying to look for something.

"Your father—" she grunted, moving a box aside, "—had the best record collection of anyone I knew. He collected them as a kid and never stopped. You remember how I used to give him records for Christmas and his birthday?"

Hermione nodded, though there was no way Mum could see her response. Her back was turned away, and she was rooting through the pile of boxes. "I put these up here after he died because I couldn't stand to look at them. But seeing as how you are so unaware of exactly how _cool_ your father actually was, I think it's high time we bring them out of storage. Aha!"

The last word was so loud and sudden, Hermione jumped. From the middle of the pile, Mum dragged out a large box with the word _RECORDS_ scribbled across the top in black permanent marker. Dad's handwriting.

Hermione felt a twinge in her stomach, but it wasn't as bad as she expected.

With a spare pair of scissors, Mum cut through the tape and pulled open the flaps to reveal what must have been at least two hundred records. They were packed so tightly in the box that Mum had to lift one out vertically to read its title.

" _Abbey Road_." Mum smiled affectionately at the record. "Your dad's very first album. He got it as a gift when he finished primary school."

She selected a few other random titles, pulling them from the box and explaining their significance. One had been a live recording from a band he'd seen as a teenager. Another had the song her parents had danced to on their first date. And although Hermione had initially felt the beginnings of that familiar, dreaded heaviness within her, the more she listened to Mum reminisce, the lighter she felt.

"What about this one?" Hermione was rifling through the box now, and extracted a BeeGees album.

Mum scrunched up her nose and chuckled. "Oh that one? Don't hold it against your father. Even _he_ was seduced by disco for a little while."

An image of Dad drifted into Hermione's mind. He would have been a young man—younger than Hermione was now. In her mind, he was wearing that horrific mustard jumper and the brown bell-bottoms Mum described. He was dancing to the BeeGees under a mirror ball, gyrating his hips in a way that she would have deemed unforgivably embarrassing.

The picture was so ridiculous that a giggle bubbled out of her.

Mum looked up from the Stevie Nicks album in her hand, a chuckle on her own lips. "What's so funny, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head, though the laugh hadn't run its course yet. "Nothing. I just… I'm just imagining Dad wearing that jumper and dancing to the BeeGees at all."

The music on her phone continued to play on shuffle in the background, and she fought the urge to cross the room to play that exact BeeGees album in an effort to fuel her laughter.

At this, Mum burst out laughing to the point that small tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. "Oh, Hermione. You have no idea!" Mum tried to catch her breath between guffaws. "Your father loved to dance. He took me out to clubs so many times. But let me tell you something: the man had two left feet. I was always half-tempted to make him wear slippers on our dates so it wouldn't hurt so much when he inevitably stepped on my toes."

Hermione winced and Mum pushed on. "And the worst part of it all was that he was quite convinced that he was a superb dancer. Top-notch. He also was competitive to a tee. Not unlike someone I know." Mum shot her a wink and Hermione rolled her eyes. "He was so convinced of his talents that he thought he'd be very cool and enter a dance-off competition at one of our local clubs during a date."

"Oh no." Hermione gasped, caught between wanting to create a mental picture and blocking the imaginings from her mind. "What happened?"

"He lost, obviously. Ended up tripping over his own shoelaces and sprained his ankle." Mum tutted and shook her head. "You know, I don't think he ever came to terms with his awful dancing. I think he still believed that dance-off was a fluke."

Hermione snorted. "He was honestly _that_ bad?"

"The _worst_." Mum wiped the tears from her eyes as she continued to try and catch her breath. "Hermione, I have no idea where you got such good coordination from, because it certainly wasn't from either of your parents. Can you just imagine if he ever wanted to join you on the ice for a lark?"

Another chuckle was shared at the shared vision of Dad falling over himself on the ice.

They continued to flip through the box of records, occasionally pausing to reminisce about the way Dad would sing along to one song or try and dance to another. As they worked, Hermione's phone shuffled music. Classical pieces and various tunes she'd skated to over the years drifted through the attic. There was a handful of personal music thrown in there as well.

She'd forgotten that one particular was on her phone, and it took a few seconds for her to recognise the melody. But once a few bars had reached her ears, there was no mistaking what she was hearing.

The last time she'd heard this song, she'd broken down completely. On instinct, the weight in her stomach returned, and she almost stood to turn off the music. But before she could, a big grin grew on Mum's face.

"Oh, your dad _loved_ this song. You both did when you were little."

The seed of panic paused to consider Mum's words.

"I remember when you were very little, maybe three or four, Dad would sing this song to you in the bath. You'd sing a lot of Beach Boys together, but this was your favourite. Of course, that suited your father just fine, because it was his favourite as well. That's why he was so eager to take you to that concert when you were six."

"I remember that concert," Hermione piped up, setting down the record she'd just picked up. "It was my very first. I thought we were going to the actual beach, though."

Mum laughed. "Yes, I seem to recall you asking questions about sandcastles. Oh, but you loved it. You and your dad sang along the whole time. Even after you got tired and fell asleep on your dad's shoulders, you couldn't stop smiling."

_If you should ever leave me_

_Though life would still go on, believe me..._

"You and your dad had such a special relationship. He was your best friend long before Draco Malfoy turned up. And he'd be so very proud of you." Mum reached out to grab her hand and gave it a squeeze.

Even though tears gathered at the corner of Hermione's eyes, her lips remained upturned in a gentle smile.

"And look!" Mum rustled around the box for a moment before pulling out a record. "This one's the copy of _Pet Sounds_ your dad always put on when you were little. You used to dance around the living room in your pyjamas to _Wouldn't It Be Nice_."

Hermione chuckled as Mum passed her the Beach Boys album. She held the cardboard cover gingerly between her fingers. This one record had helped her share so much joy with Dad in the eighteen years they had together. So many happy memories had been created.

Perhaps she could make another.

"Hey Mum?" Hermione stood, heart racing, still clutching Pet Sounds in her hands. "I… have a phone call to make. I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?"

Mum waved her off as she grabbed her smartphone and scampered down the attic steps to the quiet privacy of her room.

From her contacts, she selected Draco's number and hit the green call button before she could talk herself out of it. As she waited for him to pick up, she sat perched on the edge of her bed, leg shaking in anticipation.

He picked up on the second ring.

"Hermione? What's going on? Where are you?" Panic seeped through the phone from the moment he spoke. "Are you okay? I tried dropping by your house, but you weren't there."

"I'm fine, I promise." Hermione tried her best to speak in a calm, reassuring tone. "I'm in London right now."

"London?"

"Mmm, I am. With my mum."

"Oh. And… Did you leave because what happened? Yesterday, I mean."

Hermione could hear his nerves through the receiver.

"It was. Sort of. I just… panicked, I guess. About a lot of things," she clarified. "Not just… well, you know."

The almost-kiss. That had contributed to her panic, certainly, but it hadn't been the root cause by a long shot.

"Oh. Okay. Well… that's good to know. So then, what's going on?"

Hermione looked down at the album in her hands and tried to push through the layers of pain she knew she was about to induce if she followed through on her idea.

"I think I have an idea for our Free Dance."

She thought she heard Draco chuckle on the other end. "Couldn't wait until our next meeting on Monday? It had to be now?"

A small smile curled on Hermione's lips. "No, I'm afraid it just couldn't wait."

"Right then. Hit me with it."

A wave of nerves roiled Hermione's stomach as she started talking, but she fought through them. "I know you wanted to do Rachmaninoff, but I honestly think the audience won't connect with it. And to be frank, I wouldn't connect with it."

"That's fair."

"We have to connect with the music. It has to come from the heart. We can't make up some phony story to match the music. The music… it should already be a story to us."

"I completely agree."

Hermione took a breath as she reached the crux of her argument. "I think I have a song with a story. It's my story. My story and… and my dad's."

"Your… dad?"

"Yeah... we… Do you remember how I told you about that awful date with Viktor a few years ago?"

She could have sworn she heard Draco scoff, but she pushed through.

"Well, on that date, the song that made me break down was one that my dad and I used to sing all the time. _God Only Knows_ by the Beach Boys. Do you know it?" Draco gave a short affirmation before she continued. "It hurt to be reminded of him back then, but just now, when I was sorting through my dad's old records, I heard it again."

They both paused for a moment, likely as Draco took in her words. "So is that the song you want? The one that reminds you of your dad?"

Hermione nodded, though she knew Draco couldn't see her. "Yes. I… That's what I want. I want to dedicate that dance to him. Take him out on the ice with me this year. It's been so long since he's seen us compete and… it feels right." She cleared her throat, eyes still trained on the record as she held the phone to her ear. "Is that… okay?"

Hermione wasn't sure how, but she could almost see Draco smiling through the phone. The thought of it made her heart flutter.

"I think it's perfect."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Let's do _God Only Knows_. Your dad… I think he'd like it."

All the weight in her chest turned to warmth. It was love she felt, there was no doubt about it. Love for Dad.

Love for Draco.

But she'd cross that bridge when she came to it. For now, this warmth was enough.

"I think he would, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who cried? I nearly did while writing this chapter. Hermione has grown so much and she really has a strong team on her side. A lot of you had asked about Hermione's relationship with her mother, and I hope your curiosity has been satisfied. 
> 
> This might be my favorite chapter to date. I actually wrote it and then completely started from scratch when it wasn't right. When I tried again, it felt right. I hope you feel that way, too. 
> 
> Take care, everyone. Be well. Hug your loved ones if you can.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2017 World Championships

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say about this chapter? I hope it lifts you up. 
> 
> Much love to Graceful Lioness.

**December 2016**

Despite being intimately familiar with fame since childhood, Draco wasn't sure he'd ever get used to the notoriety he'd received in the last few months. Ever since their first public performance of this year's Free Dance, the attention he and Hermione had been receiving was nonstop.

It wasn't just paparazzi anymore. Now it was morning and evening talk shows, radio and podcast interviews, and even a couple magazine covers. He could no longer just walk down the street to pop into the fish and chips takeaway near his flat. People recognised him now, took sneaky photos, tried to flag him down for selfies and other such things. He'd taken to wearing ball caps and sunglasses when he went out and about, though they only helped so much. Hermione was apparently experiencing similar problems.

The Draco from even just last year would have reveled in it all, beyond excited to have the limelight shining on him so brightly and for such an extended time.

But this… was a lot. Especially given the circumstances.

While their skating was excellent—the best it'd ever been, even—what made them such a strong human interest piece was the background concerning this year's Free Dance. Everyone wanted to know about the story behind the dance that had touched the hearts of millions who'd seen it on YouTube.

Which meant they wanted to know about Hermione's dad.

They could have made up some cover story, which Draco had suggested, but Hermione insisted they stick with the truth.

"They'll find out anyway," Hermione murmured when they'd gotten the question list for their first media appearance of the season. She turned purple at first when she read the email on the sidelines of iceSheffield between run-throughs. Draco read the email over her shoulder and balked at the audacity of these producers.

Questions like, " _How did your father's death impact your skating career?"_ and " _If you could go back in time and say something to your father, what would it be?"_ jumped out at him. They made Draco clench his fists and want to punch whichever person had decided to drag Hermione through her old trauma publically.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Draco continued to ask, even until the final moments before they stepped onto various soundstages.

Hermione's response was always the same. She would go very pale right before an interview, but her face became stoic and determined, eyes focused straight ahead.

"I'll get through it," she gritted before plastering on a smile and stepping into the spotlight.

Despite the potential turmoil that the focus on her dad could be causing, Hermione seemed changed by it all. For years, Draco danced around the subject of Dr Granger when he was around her. He also felt a great loss when his true father-figure died suddenly, but it never seemed right to force Hermione to talk about him, not when she clearly wasn't ready to. Draco wasn't sure what change had occurred that made Hermione call him that day back in Spring, but whatever had happened, it was as though a dam had finally broken within Hermione. Her grief was suddenly an approachable topic. She even seemed to feel relieved after each of their interviews, as though she'd been keeping memories and emotions surrounding her dad locked away for all these years.

As a result of their Free Dance's viral fame, Hermione had also started receiving a considerable amount of fan mail. She'd gotten a good deal before, but never like this. Letters before this year were often from young children who admired her or young men who wanted to proclaim their love.

Draco wasn't particularly fond of the latter category.

Now, though, letters came pouring in from people, not just in the UK, but around the world as well. They were people who had heard her story of great loss, and were responding, telling their own stories and expressing support and empathy.

On the handful of occasions he'd been over to Hermione's flat since the new season began, he'd seen a few tacked up above her desk.

"They remind me to keep skating the routine, even when it's hard," Hermione explained while Draco flipped through the stash she kept in a small box beside the desk. They were all stories of people who had suffered devastating losses. Parents. Children. Grandparents. Friends. To many of these people, their _God Only Knows_ routine was an act of healing. Somehow, even though Hermione didn't say it aloud, he knew that it was helping her heal as well.

Still, the performances always took a toll on them both. To convey the full story of the dance, it wasn't just physically draining. By the end of their four minutes on the ice, Draco always felt emotionally drained as well. After their four-way bows and their stop by the Kiss-And-Cry Station to hear their scores, the two of them always took a few minutes, just to themselves. As soon as they had their scores, Severus escorted them to a quiet room backstage where they could simply be together. Being the incredible coach that he was, Severus stood guard over the door to make sure no one interrupted them during that time.

Sometimes, they just breathed in unison as their heart rates came down. Other times, Hermione would break down, sobbing in Draco's arms as he soothed her gently. On rare occasions, tears fell from Draco's eyes as well. There was occasionally the temptation to chase Hermione's tears away with a soft kiss to her cheek or even her lips, but Draco held back. They'd offered each other physical comfort to deal with difficult moments before, but he didn't want their relationship to return to that sort of dynamic again.

If he was going to kiss her ever again, it needed to be on both their terms.

And _oh_ , did he want to kiss her. Just not yet.

After a few minutes, Severus knocked three times on the door, giving them five minutes' notice. They wiped each other's tears and double checked Hermione's make-up before returning to the backstage area, ready to face whatever interviews awaited them.

By the time the Grand Prix final in Marseilles rolled around in December, they had their routine down to precision. They'd had a clean sweep this year, receiving gold at all the qualifying events so far. The Grand Prix final was no exception. Fleur and Roger received silver graciously, and had promised to offer hugs and a celebratory dinner on the town after their recovery period. The two French skaters had turned into good friends since last year's tragedy and the gala that followed. Draco was especially glad for Hermione, who deserved as many friends as she wanted.

Although Draco had to admit, the first time she announced she was going out for drinks with Fleur, he was forced to reconcile the bet of sorts he'd made before. Hermione nearly fell into a fit of giggles when he kissed Severus on the cheek after rehearsal one day.

Their coach merely raised an eyebrow and shook his head, but said nothing.

As soon as they exited their much-needed isolation, they were inundated with all the expected pomp and circumstance that came with winning an international title. Interview after interview were given and photograph after photograph were taken. By the time they sat down to dinner with Fleur and Roger a few hours later, Draco was thoroughly exhausted. He was pleased to have a gold medal sitting in his hotel room, it was true, but his fatigue was bone-deep. Hermione looked the same. Under the light layer of make-up and the smile she offered their friends, he could see her exhaustion, both physical and emotional.

Tomorrow there would be more interviews. More press. And the day after that and the one after that and so it would go until well into the new year, when they went to the World Championships, the competition that would determine their attendance at the next Olympics.

It was a draining prospect, but what choice did they have? And besides, at the end of it all, there was a real chance at the medal they'd been coveting since childhood.

Olympic Gold.

For that, Draco would endure hours of intrusive questions. He just needed to know that Hermione was willing to endure it, too.

Though they did not sleep in each other's arms any more, they still shared meals together at each other's flats. They still watched movies together, sitting a carefully-calculated distance apart from each other under knitted blankets and fleece throws.

They still talked, too. About skating and their dreams. Hermione continued to pursue a university degree in the limited free time they had. Draco's heart swelled with pride as she described the potential careers she hoped to pursue when their time on the ice finished. He still looked to that looming date with dread, but to think that they could make a real mark in the world of ice skating before then, that's what motivated him to keep waking up early, putting his body through its paces, and answering intrusive questions.

Hermione told him again and again that she felt the same. Even if it was hard, she wanted to push through with him.

Weeks and weeks of being pried open bit by bit by the press, and Hermione had certainly bent. But she was far from broken. She still cried on occasion, but the more she spoke about her dad, the stronger she seemed. Her bottom lip no longer wobbled when she recalled happier moments of her childhood. She no longer emerged from their post-performance isolation with tear stains covered up by last-minute make-up.

When Draco asked Hermione about it on a windy afternoon in early March, just a month away from the World Championships, she admitted that talking about her dad was finally making her feel at peace.

"I feel… lighter, if you can believe it." Hermione sipped at the tea he'd made at the kitchen table of the flat they'd once shared. "It's still hard, listening to that song and getting through the dance, but I don't feel like running away whenever I think about him."

Draco offered a smile as he sipped his own tea. "I think he'd be really proud of you."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely."

A little bubble of pleasure stirred in his stomach as he watched Hermione's cheeks tinge pink at his words. Her eyes looked up at him over the rim of her mug. "Well, I couldn't have done it without you."

It was impossible not to love her.

~*~*~*~

World Championships descended upon them in a storm of nerves and pressure. The flight to Helsinki, Finland wasn't a long one, but Hermione repeatedly crumpled and flattened her beverage napkin with her nimble fingers from the moment they took off until Draco convinced her to throw it in the bin after they deplaned.

They managed to get through the throng of fans that gathered just past customs to greet them. When they'd signed a few autographs and posed for some pictures, they met the driver assigned to take them to the hotel and sped off toward his car. Draco practically dove into the back seat after Hermione after they realised that a few determined fans had pursued them from the terminal.

Thankfully, there was very little press scheduled pre-competition. Their first two days in Helsinki were focused on practising and relaxing as much as possible. In the practice arena, Draco and Hermione ran through their routine as Severus reminded them of small corrections they needed to make. Foot placement here. Arm angle there.

Hermione constantly looked as though she was seconds away from vomiting.

Draco tried to soothe her by rubbing gentle circles along her back and encouraging her to eat in small amounts.

To her credit, though, she didn't break down or cry. But Draco could feel her lingering near an edge, and he knew it was going to be up to him to keep her from falling.

By the time Friday rolled around and it was time for them to take to the ice, Hermione had finally done her pre-performance vomit and managed to choke down some eggs and toast at his insistence. Their Short Dance had been well-received this year, and performing the Justin Bieber song was fun. It showcased their footwork capabilities and their mastery of Latin dance techniques.

Stepping onto the ice to perform that particular dance on the afternoon of the 31st of March felt like any other high stakes competition they'd attended through the years. Draco tried not to focus on the screaming in the stands or the eyes of the judges as they stared down from their seats.

Instead, he focused on Hermione. Always on Hermione. He focused on the way her eyes shone with determination and the feeling of her hand in his. It was golden. It was electric. It was perfect. And when the music faded away and they struck their final pose, Draco knew that they'd secured a good spot for tomorrow's Free Dance competition, for the moment that would make or break them.

Hermione didn't vomit the next day, but she did look a bit pale as they warmed up backstage at the Hartwall Arena. Draco took extra time to offer soft reassurances.

When they got into their costumes, Draco helped zip up the back of Hermione's dress. It was a pale, dusty pink, meant to reference the years Hermione spent doing ballet. She looked sublime in it, almost like an angel when she spun on the ice. With careful movements, his fingers dragged the zipper up the curve of her spine until it stopped at the nape of her neck. Draco fought the urge to trace his fingers along the path of the zipper. In the past, he'd've run his hands along her skin, worshipping her with his lips as he worked, but that was forbidden territory now.

Instead, he gave her shoulder a little pat when the zipper couldn't reach any higher.

They were slated to perform toward the end of the night. Having scored highest in the Short Dance competition, they had been given the last Free Dance performance slot. This meant that they would know their placement as soon as they received their results in the Kiss and Cry Station. They would know if the Olympics were in their future.

Hand-in-hand, the two of them left the comfort and safety of their changing room to stand backstage. As they arrived, Fleur and Roger were double-checking their skates.

"Good luck," Hermione called to them as they stepped up to the door that led out to the arena.

The French skaters nodded in response, likely too nervous to speak.

As soon as they were alone, the two of them laced up their skates. Severus poked his head in as usual to offer last-minute advice.

_Mind your feet. Watch your arm._

_Connect with the audience and you'll do fine._

Then he was gone, and the two were left alone once more.

The rumbling noise from the arena was muffled behind the padded, sound-proof walls that lined the backstage area. To Draco, it almost felt as though he was standing underwater, like he and Hermione were the only ones in this entire building… in this whole world.

Her breath rattled through the room, its rhythm slightly erratic as she leaned against the wall. Her eyes were closed and her face had lost its usual colour. She didn't look as though she was going to be sick, but it was clear that she was suffering from nerves.

"Hey," Draco murmured, closing the distance between them as he rubbed circles across her back. "Tell me what's going on."

Hermione shrugged, keeping her eyes trained on the blank wall across from them. "Anxious, I guess. This performance… it feels big."

"That's because it _is_ big." Draco didn't see any point in offering his partner unhelpful platitudes. "We've got a lot riding on the next ten minutes."

He heard the breath hitch in Hermione's throat and felt her spine stiffen. The fingers on his right hand spread out, pressing more firmly into her back. She leaned into his touch as she let out a deep sigh.

"But that's not something you didn't already know. What you should know now is that no matter what happens today, I'm still here. You're my best friend, Hermione, Olympics or not."

Her brown eyes met his, and Draco was certain he saw unshed tears there. None fell, but warmth filled Draco to know how much she meant it when she responded softly. "You're my best friend, too."

Hermione's arms reached for him then, wrapping around his middle and pulling him close. Her cheek rested against his chest and her ear pressed right above the spot where his heart was beating a nervous staccato.

Draco laid his cheek against the top of Hermione's tamed curls. Through the pads of his fingers still splayed across her back, he could feel the expanding of her lungs as she took each breath. He slowed his breathing to match hers.

In.

Out.

Again.

_I love you._

He thought the words between each breath. It was the closest he could bring himself to say them in such a moment as this. Who knew when he would have the courage to say that to Hermione's face?

For now, it would suffice.

For now, making their very breath intertwine was enough.

Their chests expanded as one, and as they exhaled together, Draco felt united with Hermione, as though they'd been bonded. Tied together. There was no separation between their two bodies. Their hearts beat as one as they prepared to take to the ice.

Severus opened the door once more and the sound from the outside word leaked into their little bubble.

"One minute. Fleur and Roger are about to finish."

Draco gave a curt nod to show that he understood, but did not dislodge himself from Hermione's firm grip. He wasn't ready to let go. Not yet. He had exactly one more minute before cameras would descend upon them both.

Hermione buried her face in his chest. "It'll be just us out there," she muttered, mimicking the line they'd repeated to themselves countless times.

"It'll be us." Draco cradled the back of Hermione's head in one hand. "But not just us."

At his words, Hermione pulled back slightly, brow arched in confusion.

"Your dad's with us today. He's right here." He used the hand that wasn't supporting Hermione's head to tap lightly against the spot just above her left breast. Her heart. "He's always with us out on the ice. And today is no exception."

Hermione's breathing remained slow. She didn't move her forehead from his chest until Severus opened the door so they could enter the arena. When she finally looked up at him, the contented smile on her face almost made him forget that they were about to attempt to qualify for the Olympics in front of thousands of people.

 _I love you,_ Draco thought.

The crowd was deafening as thunderous applause rang through the arena. Fleur and Roger had just finished and were taking their four-way bow. It would only be a matter of moments before it was their turn.

When scores were announced and their French friends were announced as the current leaders, it was finally time.

They began the dance back-to-back, eyes facing upward, as if gazing at someone just unseen. When the first few notes of _God Only Knows_ seeped through the speakers, the strings and clarinet sent a chill up Draco's spine, much like it always did.

Because this wasn't just a dance or a piece of fiction created to take this audience on a fantastical journey. This dance was everything. It was the story of Hermione and her dad and somehow, of him as well.

They circled each other, and Hermione, following the choreography, fell into his arms. Draco caught her, leading her prone body in another short circle before he pushed her to her feet once more.

Their past was littered with dances that had them putting their hands all over each other, dances that were meant to show a seductive closeness between the two of them. While Draco's hands were firmly planted on Hermione's waist or back or thighs, this dance wasn't seductive in the slightest. Yet, it was the most intimate they'd ever been.

As Draco led Hermione around the ice, his eyes never left hers. As it always did when they skated, the audience, the judges, the distractions… they all faded until his whole world was Hermione. All he could feel was the heat of her body radiating through her thin costume. All he could see was the emotion shining through her eyes. There was sadness there, yes, but there was also joy and another emotion that Draco thought could be love.

How had he gotten so lucky to be here, in this moment with Hermione? What good thing had he done in his life, or even in a past life, to deserve someone in his life like her?

The slower, more melancholy version of the song bled into the more upbeat, original version, signaling the transition to their twizzle sequence. When they stopped turning in unison, Draco took Hermione by the hand and pulled her to his chest.

It knocked all the wind out of him, just for a second, holding her close like this. There was a sense of rightness in it all—them, here, still together on the ice after all these years.

She was his everything.

The voices of the Beach Boys filled the arena, and Draco felt as though he was really hearing the lyrics for the very first time.

_If you should ever leave me_

_Though life would still go on, believe me_

_The world could show nothing to me_

_So what good would living do me?_

_God only knows what I'd be without you._

Even though this was a dance for her dad, Draco couldn't help but relate to the message of the song. Because even when their career on the ice was finished, he wouldn't stop needing Hermione.

He loved her. Wholly. Completely.

_God only knows what I'd be without you._

Draco wanted to tell her—needed to tell her. As he thought the words he longed to say, his eyes never left hers.

The two circled the rink one last time, coming toward the end of the performance. Draco lifted Hermione onto his thigh and held her aloft as she spread her arms gracefully, reaching toward the stars.

This was the part of the dance that always made the audience draw collective breath. As the music transitioned back to the devastating minimalism of the first version of the song, Draco led Hermione backward toward the center of the ice. His hands held fast to her waist and hers were laced around the back of his neck. Their foreheads nearly touched as they spun, her clinging to him as he ducked and stood again, her legs tucked in and never wavering.

Brown eyes met grey. Those never wavered, either.

There was so much adoration radiating from every inch of her skin and Draco prayed that Hermione could feel the same coming from him.

Without Hermione, he would have never come this far. Without her dad, he'd have never believed he could in the first place. He'd have just been the same—childish, selfish, and ultimately, miserable.

_God only knows what I'd be without you..._

They stood, one last time, their spin never ceasing until Draco gently eased Hermione backward. She knelt on the ice and he followed, cradling her head in his hand as they embraced.

_God only knows what I'd be without you…_

Their foreheads finally met for less than a second as the music faded away entirely, and then Draco slid further into their final pose. They clung to each other, Draco supporting Hermione from above and Hermione embracing him as if he were the only person in the entire world. His cheek rested just above her breasts, and he could hear the thump of her heartbeat against his ear.

It was the sweetest sound.

He felt her fingers threading through the hair on the nape of his neck, and it sent a chill through him. Draco pulled her closer, lingering in their embrace for longer than usual. Hermione was breathing hard. With each exhale, Draco could feel the longer strands on top of his head move. When he breathed, he took in her sweet scent, flowery even under a layer of earthy sweat.

They were still breathing together.

 _I love you_ , he thought. _I am completely and utterly in love with you. There never has been and never will be anyone else for me._

And then he was standing, pulling Hermione to her feet. She was in his arms again as the world came back into focus. Cheering had erupted all around them. Draco marveled at the reaction, taking in the sight of tears rolling down faces in the crowd and fans waving massive Union Jacks. And then a squeeze from Hermione brought him back to the woman in front of him.

When their eyes met, Draco was sure he saw the stars.

He could have floated off the rink, but before he could do any such thing, they had to execute a four-way bow.

First, they bowed to the judges.

Then, Draco reached out and spun Hermione so they could face the other long side of the arena.

It was there that he spotted a large sign of young Hermione. Mrs. Granger was in the stands, waving it enthusiastically above her head as she cheered. As Draco bowed his head to acknowledge the applause on this side of the arena, his eyes lingered on Hermione's mum. When their eyes met, warmth and gratitude flooded every inch of his electrified skin.

 _Thank you for being here through all these years,_ he tried to say with his eyes. _Thank you for raising such a wonderful daughter._

When he raised his head again, a glance to his right revealed that Hermione hadn't fully straightened after her curtsey. Her knees were still bent, her gaze trained unblinking up in the stands where her mum held the large sign aloft. It was as though she was frozen in place. A slight tremble of her lower lip was the only indication that she hadn't become an ice statue.

Draco followed her eyes to the sign her mum was holding. Squinting briefly, he determined it wasn't one of the old signs her dad had made all those years ago. It was new, with bold red text printed over an enlarged old photograph.

It was one that Draco had seen framed in the Granger home before—the one of Hermione and her dad. He'd actually been the one to take the picture many years before.

Next to him, Hermione collapsed to her knees on the ice. Her hand fell away from his as she attempted to stifle a sob.

Draco's arms were around her in an instant, cradling her body against his. He was vaguely aware that cameras were still on them, recording Hermione's emotional breakdown for everyone to see, but that didn't matter. Not when Hermione had just seen her dad's face at a competition for the first time in a decade.

She cried into his shoulder for a minute or so, her tears soaking into his dark shirt. He wanted to murmur sweet nothings in her ear, to tell her that he loved her and that it was going to be all right. But this wasn't the time. When Draco felt the quaking of her body subside a little, he moved his hand to cup her ear and cover his mouth as he whispered, "Come on, Hermione. Just a few more minutes. You've got to get up."

She nodded and he pulled her to her feet. They finished their bows and skated over to the Kiss and Cry station. Applause in the arena died down only when they stepped off the ice and were greeted by Severus. He patted Hermione's back in a rare moment of affection before handing them each a water bottle.

No more than two or three minutes passed from the time they put the covers on their blades until a loud female voice echoed through the arena to announce their scores. Hermione was fidgeting with her water bottle and Draco leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, scrubbing through his hair with his hands.

The scores were announced in Finnish first, and the crowd began to cheer. Draco's heart sped up. He squinted at the scoreboard, trying to make out the numbers. Severus was doing the same.

When the voice changed from female to male, so did the language.

On instinct, Draco reached for Hermione's knee.

" _Their total competition score is 198.62, and they are currently in the fiiiiirrrssssst plaaaaaaace!"_

The excitement of the announcer washed over Draco. The news should have bowled him down. He should have jumped for joy, but as the celebrations around him commenced, he found that the only place he wanted to be was somewhere alone with Hermione. Somewhere they could embrace and breathe and process what had just happened.

However, no such reprieve was found for quite some time. As they were the last couple of the night, the medal ceremony followed immediately. Draco was barely able to receive hasty congratulations from Fleur and Roger before the press descended upon them.

"How have you grown as skaters this year?" one reporter asked.

Draco gave a vague answer about increased acrobatic training.

"You've now qualified for the 2018 Winter Olympics. Are you excited?"

 _Very,_ they both replied.

"You seemed distressed after your skate, Miss Granger. Can you tell us what happened?"

"It's a very emotional performance, and I was overwhelmed for a moment." Hermione shifted in her seat. Below the table, Draco placed his hand on her knee again.

"The lip-synching really added to the performance for me, personally," one reporter said when called on. "It felt like we were witnessing something truly intimate. Was that planned?"

It took a beat before Draco was able to process the question. Lip-synching? He didn't recall any lip-synching during their performance. Turning to his left, he hoped Hermione could shed some light on this oddball question.

When Hermione was looking at him expectantly, however, that only added to his confusion. He tilted his head slightly, and this made a laugh bubble up from inside of her. She seemed to take this as a cue to answer the question.

"It definitely wasn't planned," she began with a smile. "It's just a habit Draco picked up over the years. I'm not entirely sure he's aware when he's doing it."

Draco blinked. Had he—? Was he the one who—?

He felt his face flush and heard increased clicking from the cameras. It must have made for a fun picture, Hermione holding back a hearty laugh while he turned beet red.

As the interviews wrapped up, Draco started thinking of his hotel room with increased longing. It was nearing ten o'clock at night, and all he wanted was to order room service, stretch, and pass out.

When cameras and reporters started to clear away, a few people remained to clap them on the back. Draco and Hermione returned to their changing room to grab their duffel bags so a taxi could take them back to the hotel. Hermione's mum was waiting there, Draco stood just outside for a few minutes to allow the two women some privacy. When they emerged, both had dried tears on their cheeks. Mrs. Granger kissed both their cheeks and bid them goodnight, heading toward the front entrance. It was then that Draco and Hermione departed. Near one of the backstage entrances to the arena, a small group of people was gathered, and Draco's stomach lurched when he realised who they were.

The commentators.

Among them, his father.

Flipping the collar of his jacket up, he thought he could perhaps slip by without notice, but the signature Malfoy platinum hair was a dead giveaway from the moment he stepped into view.

"Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger! Good show today. Congratulations on your win." One of the more famous commentators from the BBC, Ludo Bagman, called out to them from the group. The man had been commentating ice skating for over twenty years. All the others turned to face them, including his father.

Something flashed in Lucius Malfoy's eyes. Draco tightened the grip he had on his duffel bag.

Beside him, Hermione placed a gentle hand on his elbow, as if to steady him.

"Thank you so much." She offered a benign smile to the circle of older men and women. "It's lovely to see our hard work pay off."

Ludo nodded, a grin stretching across his face. "Well let's just say that I made a few pounds off that hard work of yours." He patted his slightly-bulging chest pocket. "I'm not one to turn down a good wager when I see one."

Hermione plastered a smile on her face, but Draco recognised it more as a grimace of discomfort. He angled his body toward the door, hoping to indicate that he was ready to leave. He didn't want to stick around long enough for someone to encourage his father to speak up.

"Before you go—" Another voice came from among the group, "—I wanted to tell you something in person." A short man poked his head out, a smile and twinkling eyes peeking out from behind a bushy, grey beard. He stuck out his hand and both Draco and Hermione bent to shake it. "Filius Flitwick, I am the German commentator."

"Lovely to meet you." The smile on Hermione's face was genuine when she beamed down at the little German man. It was no wonder her smile was so wide—he had set many records in his days on the ice.

"And you. I'm so glad I found you before you left. I wanted to tell you both in person that your skating is exquisite. The best I've ever seen."

Beside him, Hermione's cheeks glowed pink. "Thank you, sir. Like I said, we work very hard."

Flitwick held up his hands and shook his head. "You misunderstand me, dear girl. I know you work hard, but that is not what makes the two of you the best. Your skating is sublime. It is beyond a technical score. Don't you agree, Lucius?"

Draco's eyes flicked to his father, who looked as though someone had stuck rotten eggs under his nose. A weary sort of dread was gathering in Draco's stomach. Whatever Father was going to say, he didn't want to hear it. The man had lost any right to have an opinion about his life years ago.

Lucius hummed. "They won, didn't they?"

Little Flitwick raised his eyebrows. "Oh, but surely you see that your son and his partner have changed the sport itself? Raised the bar for everyone."

Under any other circumstance, Draco would have been beaming with pride, arm wrapped around Hermione while she accepted the compliment with embarrassed grace. It would have been the high point of the day, to receive praise from someone of such calibre.

But fucking Lucius Malfoy had to go and ruin it, like his presence had ruined nearly everything in Draco's life.

"That's a bit of a stretch, don't you think, Filius?" Lucius scoffed, pulling out his phone to check it. "Gold medals do not legends make."

A hush fell over the group for a moment as Lucius's words sunk in.

If he'd been any younger, any more foolish, Draco would have punched his father right then. Given him a taste of his own medicine. But before he could say anything, Flitwick's quiet voice carried across the otherwise-empty corridor.

"Something that could easily be said about your career, Lucius." As Father's nostrils flared, Flitwick turned to Draco and Hermione and offered a gentle smile. When he spoke, it was much louder. His twinkling eyes looked directly into theirs. "I look forward to seeing you at the Olympics. The way the two of you skate is unlike anything I've ever seen before. It is a study in _subtle perfection_."

Beside him, Hermione flushed with pleasure.

"Thank you, sir," Draco muttered. "Your compliment means a lot."

Flitwick reached forward and patted both their hands as Lucius spoke up once more, disdain dripping from his voice. "Let's hope you don't choke next February." His lip curled in a vicious sneer. "Not like you did in Sochi."

Flitwick drew back, eyes blown wide. Hermione's flush turned purple. The other commentators looked disgusted.

Draco had enough.

"Honestly, Father? Do fuck off."

Adjusting the duffel bag on his shoulder, he strode from the arena, enjoying the triumphant adrenaline pumping through his veins with every step he took.

~*~*~*~

The rush of telling Father to fuck off had waned slightly by the time they arrived in the lobby of their hotel, and it left Draco feeling drained. The thought of his nice, warm bed was feeling more and more enticing by the minute.

Beside him, Hermione also looked ready for bed. There were the beginnings of dark circles under her eyes, where melancholy lingered from their overwhelming evening. The two of them waited for the elevator together, and rode up to their rooms, which had been booked side-by-side.

"I can't believe you actually told your dad off." Hermione leaned against the wall of the elevator as it dinged past the second floor. "You've had quite a day, Draco Malfoy."

A half smile twitched on Draco's lips. He leaned against the opposite wall. "I could say the same for you, Hermione Granger. Today's performance was a big one for you, wasn't it? You okay? You haven't cried after a performance in a while."

Hermione inhaled through her nose and nodded. "Yeah. I'm okay. Talking to my mum after… it helped."

Draco hummed and the elevator dinged again.

"You know, I think I finally feel at peace with it all."

Draco blinked. "At peace?"

"With my dad." Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to the other, stretching out one of her calves. "I think… I'm always going to be sad when I think of what happened, but I finally feel okay about it, I guess." She shrugged, meeting his eye for a moment. "It's hard to explain."

Although he wasn't quite sure why, affection surged through him, making his half-smile stretch his face muscles wider. Inside, he felt his heart thump to life for the woman standing across from him.

 _I love you,_ he thought.

"You don't have to explain. But I'm glad to know you're feeling okay. At peace. Your dad would be proud."

The corner of Hermione's mouth twitched, making her left cheek dimple. "Yeah. I… I know."

The next time the elevator dinged, the doors opened onto the twelfth floor. Both partners stepped into the corridor and walked quietly on the carpeted floor toward their neighbouring rooms.

For some reason, Draco's heartbeat seemed to increase exponentially with each step he took.

When he was a couple meters away, Draco pulled the room key out of his wallet, ready to unlock the door, throw his duffel inside, and order whatever room service would arrive fastest.

But—

"Draco?" A hand reached out and brushed his forearm. He turned. "Will you… I don't want to be alone tonight." Rosy pink dusted her cheeks. "Will you—? Can you—?" She didn't finish her question, but the nod toward her door was enough.

An easy smile settled on Draco's face. "Of course."

 _I love you,_ he thought.

Duffle bags fell with solid thumps on the carpet by the door. Like a well-wound grandfather clock, they made their way around the room, removing shoes, calling the kitchen for room service, and settling on the floor to help each other stretch. Hermione helped relax Draco's spine. He tried to help her with a tight spot in her calf, but she declined with a wince, asking him to work her foot instead. She leaned against the headboard as he worked, sitting on his knees beside her lower half. Her skin felt soft and warm under the confident pads of his fingertips.

Touching Hermione off the ice was somehow different from how he remembered it. They'd spent so much time… _touching_ until three years ago, when they'd abruptly stopped. Her hands, her shoulders, her back, her very _skin_ had been off-limits. How had he forgotten so easily that touching Hermione was nothing but goodness?

Draco gently rubbed the ball of her foot, and she let out a soft moan.

Electricity jolted through his veins as the sound shot straight to his groin.

His cock stirred. He swallowed and let his eyes wander up until they found Hermione's. She was staring down at him, wide-eyed as though she'd felt the jolt as well.

A jagged breath escaped from her lips.

How easy would it be to lean forward and capture her lips? In a matter of seconds, they could make quick work of their shirts and their trousers and slide into each other. It was familiar. Like the dance they fell into the moment they walked into the hotel room together.

Draco's mouth was dry as his mind buzzed with indecision.

The way Hermione's expression was searching his own, she had to be making the same calculations.

To give in and fall into each other's arms would break every structure they'd put in place with Dr. Puddifoot three years ago. It would be the ultimate backpedal.

But the electricity between them—the _spark_.

Draco imagined for a brief moment, what would happen if he let his baser instincts take over. He'd get to feel Hermione's soft breasts again. He'd knead them in his palms and roll her nipples between his fingers and leave love bites all along them if she'd let him. Then he'd move down until he could taste the sweetness she kept between her legs. It was a taste he craved in his idle time and especially when he was asleep, his taste buds reminded in quiet moments just what they were missing. And then, once she was writing under him and crying his name, he'd enter her, warm and wet and only ever meant for him.

They'd fall into oblivion, together.

Then, the imagining cut off, burning around the edges like an old, ruined film strip.

It was a nice fantasy. But as life had taught him so harshly during the last Olympics, _reality_ was a far cry from what he hoped for in his head.

It seemed that Hermione must have come to a similar conclusion, because she drew her leg back toward her body, flushed face turning away from him. "Thank you," she muttered. "I think… I think I'm gonna go shower."

Draco didn't move at all as she slid off the bed and padded to the bathroom. It wasn't until he heard the distinct sound of running water that he scrubbed a hand over his face and willed his erection to go down.

Then, needing something to occupy his mind, he turned on the telly.

The first few channels were news or other local programming. Then came some dramatic programs, followed by movies. He flipped past a space opera and a period romance as well as a couple channels of cartoons. Nothing really grabbed him until a familiar scene flashed in front of his eyes.

A girl walking across a lawn in a school uniform while an audio system yelled at her.

Draco smiled.

Hermione would enjoy watching this. She always did.

Mia was suffering through the first tea with her grandmother when Hermione emerged from the shower in pyjamas, her hair wrapped in a towel. He pointed to the telly and smiled before running back to his room to grab nighttime essential and trading places with her.

Draco spent most of his time in the shower stall leaning his head against the tile wall, berating himself mentally for even thinking of sex with Hermione again. It was, and would be for the foreseeable future, off-limits.

Still, the thought came into his mind unbidden.

_You're in love with her._

He groaned into the hot water.

By the time Draco left the bathroom, their room service had arrived. Hermione was munching on chips in bed, grinning as Paolo gave Mia a makeover. For her, whatever had come over them had passed. At least, that's clearly what she wanted.

He joined her on the bed, sitting cross-legged as he dug into his burger. He hadn't had a full, proper dinner, and he had to keep his strength up for the exhibition performance tomorrow.

They sat in contented silence as Lily got angry at Mia and then Mia made too many commitments.

Hermione always groaned when her favourite heroine said yes to Josh's party invitation. It was endearing, even sixteen years later.

_That's because you're in love with her._

By the time Julie Andrews and Anne Hathaway got out of a sticky situation with a trolley, the trays were forgotten on the floor and the two friends were lying side-by-side in bed, watching the rest of the movie play out.

It was comfortable, and not just in a nostalgic way. He missed sleeping beside Hermione, feeling the warmth of her body against his. It had always grounded him, and now, experiencing it again for the first time in so long, it was as though he'd been hit by that strong electric jolt again.

_You're in love with her._

They couldn't act on anything. Not now. Not with so much at stake. But perhaps one day…

"Hey, Hermione?" Draco asked into the dark hotel room. The only source of light came from the telly, where Mia was preparing to run away from the ball. When he turned his head, Hermione's face was illuminated in streaks of soft whites and blues.

She hummed in response. "Yeah?"

Draco's stomach churned slightly, but he pushed through. "Can I ask you something?"

Blinking, Hermione turned her head away from the movie. "Sure. What's up?"

Draco swallowed, attempting to summon every last ounce of courage in his body. "How… do you feel about me?"

Hermione blinked. "How do I feel about you? Draco, what—?"

"Because I love you. Wait, no. I'm in love with you. And I… I just need to know if I'm going crazy all by myself over here."

The words spilled from his lips without precaution, and from the way Hermione's jaw dropped slightly, she hadn't seen them coming.

Draco tried to convince himself that the sinking in his heart that followed in the long moments of silence was inevitable. That if she didn't love him back, it would be fine. He would be fine. They could finish out their career together and—

"I… I do."

The buzzing in Draco's head froze. " _What?"_ he breathed.

"I do. I love you. Am in love with you, I think. I have been for as long as I remember."

A beat passed before Hermione's words sunk in. And then a ridiculous grin spread across his face. "You love me?"

Hermione was grinning like an idiot, too. "I do. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Draco wanted to jump out of bed, throw open the window, and shout to the world that Hermione Granger loved him. It was a dream. It had to be. Nothing in his life was ever that simple, that straightforward.

He leaned toward Hermione, hoping to seal the deal with a kiss. Before he made it far, she placed her hand on his forearm again.

"I love you, Draco, and I want to, but I don't think acting on it right now is a good idea." A note of sadness swam in Hermione's eyes. "We've got the Olympics to think about and even though this feels different— _is_ different—I don't think we should risk it. We're still professional partners, first and foremost. Dr. Puddifoot would call it a backslide if we gave in now."

Draco had half a mind to tell the voice of Dr. Puddifoot in his head to shove it, but somewhere, deep down, he knew Hermione was right. If they started a relationship now, who knew what kind of position it could put them in next February?

Draco thought of his younger self, standing in front of a mirror with his homemade, toy gold medal around his neck.

Hermione would be around for a lifetime.

They only had one more shot at the Olympics.

"Yeah. Okay." He slumped back on his pillows. On the telly, Mia was making a speech while soaking wet. She was coming into her new reality with grace. If Mia could do it, so could he. "That's fine. Let's focus on the Olympics."

The movie finished without other words exchanged. They both brushed their teeth and climbed into bed beside each other. Draco could have gone back to his room. But somehow, it felt right to stay tonight.

The air all around them was still and dark. Draco settled into the mattress, expecting to hear Hermione's breath even out as she fell into her usual deep slumber.

Instead of falling asleep, though, she spoke up into the darkness. 'Hey Draco?"

"Mmm?"

"Just so you know, me not wanting to act on loving you… it's just a _not yet_. I just want you to know that I want to. More than anything."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I love you, Draco."

Draco's heart stuttered to hear the words fall so easily from Hermione's lips. He wondered if those words had ever been said so easily about him.

"I love you too." He found it easy to say as well.

Under the sheets, Hermione reached for his hand. Her fingers laced through his and she squeezed. He squeezed back.

"Until after the Olympics?" she whispered after a yawn.

"Until after the Olympics," he repeated.

When Draco woke the next morning, his fingers were still intertwined with hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, writing this chapter was also incredibly cathartic in all the ways the last chapter was not. I hope there was at least a little screeching involved. Our bb's have qualified for the Olympics and confessed! 
> 
> Draco telling Lucius to fuck off gave me such life. I hope it did for you, too. Despite the love confessions, that might have been my favorite part to write. 
> 
> To the best of my ability, I actually edited together the version of God Only Knows that Draco and Hermione skate to in this chapter. It's not professional or anything - far from it, in fact. But it gives you the general gist. 
> 
> Here is the link:   
> https://drive.google.com/file/d/17oDhxJTGeaXRyUZNypiCa2iIze1m8_2Z/view?usp=sharing
> 
> Now, here's the fun part. If you look up Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir's actual 2017 Free Dance from the World Championships - the video from CBC sports - mute it, and start it at about 1:10, then play my edit, the music actually matches up pretty well. It gave me goosebumps the first time I got the timing right. That should give you all (as it definitely gave me) a nice vision for their dance. Granted, it's not perfect, but I enjoyed it all the same. 
> 
> Until next week, everyone!


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after winning the 2017 World Championships, Draco and Hermione are scheduled to perform in the Exhibition of Champion in Helsinki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your response from the last chapter was insane. Thank you all for so much love. It really means the world. It's lovely to see you're as attached to our ice dancing bbs as I am. 
> 
> If you look at the timestamp, you'll see that this chapter picks up right where the last one left off - there's no time jump. 
> 
> Major thanks to Graceful Lioness.

**April 2017 - The Next Day**

When Hermione drifted into awareness, sunlight caressed her eyelids, coaxing them to flutter open. A kind of warmth she hadn't felt in so long seeped through her back, and a gentle pressure against her ribs. A glance downward revealed a familiar arm wrapped around her waist.

_Draco._

Her best friend—the man she loved, slept on. The soft breaths from his nose caressed the nape of her neck, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. When she adjusted her body just a little, he pulled her closer and mumbled incoherently against her hair.

Draco had always been rather precious in his sleep. Even when they were children, his sleepy smiles and cuddly instincts made it very difficult to stay mad at him when they woke up together. Not that she had any reason to be upset with Draco.

For the first time in so long, everything felt right in their world. They had just become world champions and qualified for the Olympics in one go.

Draco had finally told his father off after years of mistreatment.

Both those things would have made for an unforgettable day.

And then he'd told her three small words. Words she'd been waiting a lifetime to hear.

_I love you._

He'd said those words before, but last time, it hadn't felt warm or miraculous. It hadn't made her heart race. And worst of all, those words had led to disaster.

Three years later, those words felt entirely new.

Hermione's fingers were still intertwined with Draco's. A smile spread across her face as she realised that they'd held hands all night. Her heart beat a steady rhythm in her chest, and she briefly wondered if Draco could feel it, too. She felt a bit like a young teenager again, giddy about the possibilities of new love.

Still smiling, Hermione straightened her spine and legs in an attempt to stretch out. The moment she tried to stretch her left calf, the smile was wiped away and replaced with a strong grimace. Her calf had been bothering her for a few weeks, but it had never been this bad. It had been tight, yes, but always manageable.

A good, long stretch was usually enough to subdue the pain for a while, but this was beyond what she could handle with a ten minute warm-up.

Sighing, she extracted herself from Draco's arms. It would have been lovely to have a bit of a lie in with him, but the aching in her calf compelled her to get up. When she moved his arm, Draco inhaled deeply through his nose, clearly pulled from slumber by all the movement.

"Whazzi—Hermione?" Draco rubbed sleep from his eyes as Hermione turned so her legs were draped over the edge of the bed. He must have reached for her, because she felt his fingers brush the stretch of bare skin between her pyjama shorts and shirt. "Good morning," he yawned.

She smiled through the pain that shot through her leg when she laid her foot flat on the floor. "Good morning. Sleep well?"

"Best in a long while." Draco moved his hands over his head as he stretched out his whole body. "Today's gonna be a good one. We've got the exhibition at two, and then we're finally free!" He closed his eyes as if this was perfect bliss before moving to sit up beside Hermione and grab her hand. "I have all the time in the world after that to tell you I love you as many times as I please."

He leaned his forehead against hers, making a blush spread across her cheeks. "I love you," he whispered into her ear. She giggled and whispered the words right back. For a moment, she forgot all about the pain in her leg. It really was a marvelous thing, those three words. The world around them could be falling to pieces and she'd've been none the wiser.

Draco pressed a soft kiss into her cheek before standing. "Come on, then. Shall we find some breakfast?"

Hermione nodded and pushed herself off the bed. The moment she tried to bear weight on her left leg, her calf tightened painfully, forcing her to grimace. Hoping that Draco hadn't seen, she kept her face downcast as she took small, tentative steps towards the loo.

Luck, as it turned out, was not on her side. "What's wrong?" Draco asked, eyebrows knit in concern as his hand closed around her arm.

Hermione shook her head, shifting her weight onto her right leg and slowly circling her left ankle. "It's my calf. It's been bugging me for a while, but this morning it's really tight."

Draco drew his head back slightly. "For a while? Hermione, why didn't you tell me?"

She shrugged. "It hasn't really been an issue before this morning. I'd been working with my PT to stretch it out and ice it, and that's always seemed to do the trick. It's not perfect, but it's been bearable."

This didn't seem to reassure Draco. He chewed his lip, staring at her calf as if he could diagnose her with his eyes.

"Can you skate on it?"

It was the million-dollar question, the one that had sent Hermione panicking in the weeks leading up to the World Championships. So far, she'd been diligent. Lucky, even. The pain had never been this bad, but then again, it was only one more performance. If she could stretch it enough, she'd be able to push through the three-minute performance and then get it looked at professionally as soon as they got back to the UK.

Tentatively, Hermione nodded. "I think so, yes. If we really work it this morning, get it loose, I'll be fine."

Draco didn't seem convinced, but he trusted her. That much, she knew. "Right. Okay. Back on the bed. Lean against the headboard. I'm going to try and massage it a bit."

Hermione complied, sliding back onto the mattress and flipping onto her stomach. Draco settled near the foot of the bed. He took her foot onto his lap and got to work with long strokes down her calf.

Although she expected the relief that made her groan and usually accompanied a good massage, Draco's touch made her yelp in pain. "Ooh!" she practically screeched, her whole body jumping. She turned her head to look back at him. "Not so hard, please."

Draco drew his arms back as though he'd been burned. "I wasn't pressing hard, Hermione. That was almost as gentle as I can be."

"Sorry." Hermione grimaced, crossing her arms and resting her chin on them. "Try again. Please?"

Draco gingerly placed a hand on her calf again, barely brushing the muscle. Pain shot through her again. Breath caught in her throat, she fought the instinct to draw her leg back, away from his fingers.

It was Draco's turn to grimace.

"Well," he said, chewing his lip again. "That's not going to work. Let's try a heating pad. Then stretch and try massaging it again?"

Hermione agreed to go along with the plan. Draco dug through Hermione's suitcase for the heating pad she kept on hand, plugging it in and situating it on her leg. He then called Severus, who would surely want to know about this update.

Their coach arrived in the room within twenty minutes.

"How does it feel now?" Severus asked once the heating pad had been nestled against her calf for half-an-hour. "Any looser?"

Hermione tested the waters as her partner and coach watched her, arms folded. She flexed her foot, then pointed it. "It's okay. A little better, I think."

The answer did little to pacify either man.

"Keep it warm," Severus directed, his tone more serious than Hermione had ever heard it before. "On the heating for twenty minutes, then stretch and massage. Repeat that until we go to the arena at noon and then keep working it until the moment you get out on the ice. I also want you to take ibuprofen an hour before you go on."

He paused, his lips pressed together in a thin line. "Hermione, I know you want to participate today, but as your coach, I must inform you that unless we see improvement today, I'm going to request that you drop out of the exhibition."

Hermione winced as she tried to flex her foot again.

"Hermione, I agree with Severus." Draco adjusted the heating pad, frowning. "I'm okay sitting this performance out. It's just an exhibition, not a competition. We've already qualified for the Olympics."

There was a pleading tone to his voice. He was clearly concerned. Both men were. They were staring down at her like she was made of glass. Which she wasn't. She was fine. It was all _fine._

Or, it was going to be.

It had to be.

She had an obligation.

Not to herself. Not to Draco or even to the UK.

It was an obligation to a young fan. A little girl who had written her a letter would be in the audience today. She'd received the note two weeks ago, and had read through it multiple times.

Little Eliisa poured her heart out over three scribbled pages in broken English, explaining how close she'd been to her dad and how he'd passed away from an illness two years ago. She wanted to be a figure skater and claimed that Hermione was her hero.

_Your dancing make me cry but I also smile to think on my father. My mother gets the tickets for Exhibition on 2 April. I hope to see you, my hero. Can I give the flowers to you?_

That letter sat in the backpack she carried on the plane all the way to Helsinki.

Hermione felt an obligation to Eliisa. To show up for this little girl. To be considered a hero was not a responsibility to be taken lightly.

"I want to do everything within my power to perform today," Hermione urged, face set. "Do to me what you need to do. I need to be ready."

She was sure Severus was going to argue back, but he went quiet instead. Her coach stood, sizing her up for a long moment before giving a firm nod.

"Very well. Stick to the schedule, then. Twenty on, stretch." Severus turned to Draco, eyes narrowed and hard. "See that she's being honest with me about how she's doing."

"Absolutely." Draco's face was solemn. "You can count on me."

"Good. Call me with any changes. I'll see you at the arena." With a final look at Hermione's calf, Severus swept from the room.

When all was quiet and the two of them were alone again, it was Draco's turn to stare at her calf with a sigh.

Hermione was worried that he was upset until she saw the hint of an amused smile tug at the corner of his lips.

"We can't just have it easy, can we, Granger?"

Hermione followed Severus's directives to a tee. She kept the heating pad on her calf all morning, massaging it with a rolling stick every twenty to thirty minutes. By the time they got to the arena around noon, her muscle was definitely a bit looser, but nowhere near where it normally should be.

At one o'clock, just before she changed into her gold dress, she swallowed four ibuprofen with a protein bar and a bottle of water. She just had to get through the gala number she and Draco had been performing all season and then perform the group finale skate at the end. It was less than ten minutes on the ice. That was more than possible.

She'd do it. For Eliisa.

Then she'd rest.

Exhibition skates were always fun. Skaters were allowed the kind of creative freedom they could only dream of during competition season. No moves were forbidden and there was no set pattern or music requirement they had to follow.

For Draco, it had been difficult to acclimate to the idea of gala skates, for Hermione, it was her favourite part of competitions. There was almost no pressure, and she could make the audience dance or even sing along if she wanted to.

This year's song was especially fun. Within seconds of this routine starting, they usually had most of the audience bobbing their heads to the beat at the very least. What wasn't to love about a Bruno Mars song? And the choreography she and Tonks had cooked up was especially fun.

The best part, though? Draco always _came alive_ when they danced to this routine. Long gone was the stiff, aristocratic little boy who wasn't sure he could dance to anything but classical music. The Draco who stepped onto the ice with her for these gala performances was quick on his feet and smooth as hell, technical to a fault while making it look so easy.

Hermione would've been lying if she didn't admit that dancing with Draco like that—seeing him so confident and cool—was a major turn on. The aftermath of most of their performances of 24K Magic left her panting heavily, and not just because of the physical exertion it took to do that dance.

God, she needed to get laid. By Draco.

Hermione grimaced for half a second as she put the final touches on her makeup in the mirror of their dressing room. Those were thoughts she wasn't supposed to have.

But then…

Memories of the night before crashed into her memory.

They'd come so close to crossing the line they'd toed so well for over three years. Not because they were simply giving into temptation, but because…

" _I'm in love with you."_

Hermione's heart raced with just the memory of those words.

They'd promised to wait until after the Olympics to officially revisit their relationship, but for now, imagining all the things she'd do with him… to him… that didn't feel quite so off-limits now.

And thank goodness for that.

Severus was waiting for them backstage just before they went on.

"How's your calf?" he asked the moment they were within earshot.

"Better," Hermione answered honestly. "It's not as tight as it was this morning. It's not… _ideal._ But I can go on."

 _Not ideal_ was a euphemistic way of putting it. What she should have said was _not excruciating_ , but Severus would have definitely pulled her if those were her choice of words. She just had to get through a little less than four minutes and then all would be well.

As she hoped, Severus seemed pacified by her response. "Good. I've already spoken to the standby medic and she has ice prepared for you as soon as you finish."

She nodded, continuing to stretch her calf against the wall.

At that moment, the male file skating world champion, Marcus Flint, came flying through the curtain that separated the backstage area from the arena. He was sweating, but looked pleased with himself. The man didn't say a word, but threw a thumbs up in their direction as he snagged a water bottle from a table off to the side.

"Right then. Off you go." Severus shooed them toward the curtains. "Be careful, Hermione."

They stood in the darkness, just behind the curtain for thirty seconds or so while their introduction video played on the screen above the ice. Draco's hands found hers, strong as always, his fingers lacing through hers. And then…

Hermione was sure no one was watching when Draco bent down and brushed his lips against hers. She jumped a little at first, but leaned into his mouth. The kiss lasted only a few short seconds, and Draco didn't say a word as he pulled away. Butterflies erupted in Hermione's stomach, masking the pain in her calf, if only for a moment.

"Just us?" Draco's mouth tugged into a satisfied smirk.

Hermione rolled her eyes and grinned as well. "Just us."

They were greeted with thunderous applause from the moment the spotlight found them just beyond the curtains. It was intoxicating, to be greeted with such enthusiasm. And knowing Eliisa was out there, somewhere, made Hermione's smile that much wider.

A few metres from the center of the ice, she took a longer stride, pushing off her left leg a bit harder, and a bolt of pain shot up her calf, but she smiled through that, too.

This dance was a fun one for sure, and the specialised lighting made it that much more enjoyable to perform. Hermione could only imagine how it must be to a fan, seeing their favourite skaters really showing off with all the bells and whistles of an artistic performance.

A casual onlooker would have thought they were in the presence of superstars with the way the audience screamed when the music kicked off. This dance started off slow. She and Draco took their sweet time reveling in cheers, skating in a giant circle around the arena and encouraging the audience to get on their feet.

By the time the beat dropped, the two of them met in the center of the ice, ready to give their all to the hip hop moves. There was nothing particularly complicated about this performance. Most of its allure came from the on-ice choreography and their enthusiasm. It wasn't hard to fake enthusiasm with this dance, either.

Because this dance was genuinely fun. As she and Draco put their years of hip hop training to good use, she couldn't help but grin. After the solemnity of their Free Dance this year, busting out 24K Magic always felt wonderfully strange, almost like an out-of-body experience.

There was popping and locking and a back-and-forth nature as they skated around the area, his hands always chasing her waist and flirtatious looks traveling between them.

Hermione was sweating from the pain within a minute, though.

 _Just two more minutes,_ she thought. _Then I'll rest._

The first lift came and went without problems. Draco sank into a squat and supported Hermione's weight as she leaned on his back, one leg daintily raised behind her. She was able to jump from his back with relative ease, taking care to land on her good leg.

Still, her calf was tightening more and more with each passing second. Her muscles had apparently forgotten the ibuprofen and hours of heating and massage.

_Just one more minute._

Their style changed to a more traditional ice dance form when the bridge of the song hit. Draco held her by the waist and led her around the arena. The second lift happened right before the final chorus, and it was the one Hermione had been dreading. And it wasn't the lift, itself. That, they'd practised hundreds of times. She'd brace her hands behind his neck and he would grab one skate. She'd tuck her legs and then swing them so it almost looked as though Draco was cradling her. Then, with his unbelievable upper body strength, Draco would lift her whole body and pass her around his head until he set her back down on the ice.

Yes, the lift was complicated, but that wasn't what concerned her. Draco was careful with her. Always. Especially after Sochi.

No, what concerned her was the landing. She needed to land this lift on her left foot. One wrong step and this could all end terribly. But she could do this. She _knew_ it.

Everyone was watching. She had to.

It was approaching.

_Don't fight the feeling, invite the feeling—_

Hermione took a deep breath and braced her hands around Draco's neck.

Grab her skate.

Tuck and cradle.

Lift.

Pass.

And then Hermione was on her own two feet again.

Her calf was tight—tighter than it had ever been, but she was fine. She was absolutely fine.

She transitioned to the final sequence and—

_Pop._

Hermione's vision went white as blinding pain seared through her leg. A grimace was tearing its way across her face, she was sure.

There were only a few seconds left in the dance. Surely, if she focused, she could make it—

A second wave of excruciating pain tore down her leg and she fell forward onto the ice. Luckily, she was able to catch herself on her hands to make for an easier landing, but that was as far forward as she was able to think. The very next second, everything outside of her body went fuzzy.

Hermione was vaguely aware of her surroundings. She heard a tidal wave of gasps from the audience. The music was cut off just seconds before the song was supposed to end. Someone's hands were on her shoulder, face, back.

Perhaps it was Draco. Maybe a medic? She wasn't sure. All she felt was the pain. Endless, tortuous pain.

She crawled—desperately, pathetically, foolishly hoping to make it off the ice and away from the public eye. The pain was too much, and the edge of the rink was too far. Instead, she lowered herself to the ice and rolled onto her back, her hands coming up to cover her face—to muffle the screams that were desperately clawing their way up her throat. Taking deep, shuddering breaths, she willed herself not to scream. Not here. Not with thousands of people watching. Still, a rattling cry escaped her.

Had something broken? Strained? Torn? Was it her achilles tendon? She'd heard so many horror stories about people tearing their achilles. The thought flew through her mind, and she felt her breath grow shallow as panic took over. She lifted her leg into the air, all of her focus on her leg. Surely if she'd torn her achilles, she wouldn't be able to move her ankle at all. Heart seized by terror, she willed her ankle to move.

She held her breath as her foot wiggled up and down. It was a miniscule movement, but a tiny spark of relief ignited within her. Her achilles hadn't torn. But still, this was pain as she's never felt it before. Blinding, searing pain. She let her leg bend, keeping it curled into her body as if that would help protect it.

Was someone shouting?

Or whispering?

Hermione wasn't sure. Her sole focus was her leg.

It was pain. All pain.

"—okay?"

"—her leg—"

"Doctor!"

"—my baby! Let me on the ice—!"

"—in there, Hermione."

As quickly as it came, the pain disappeared and was replaced by numbness. From her left knee down, Hermione felt nothing.

That, more than anything, made panic rise within her. Pain, she could understand. Pain could be explained.

But to not feel anything _at all_ was far scarier.

Her breath quickened along with her heartbeat, and despite lying on a solid sheet of ice, her entire body was covered in sweat. No matter how hard she tried to take deep breaths, her lungs never seemed to fill completely. This left Hermione gasping for air, trying to hold on to any shred of awareness she had left.

Hermione needed to be focused. Be in control.

From somewhere in the audience, she heard crying. A child. Eliisa, perhaps? Hermione wanted to sit up and reassure her that it was all going to be okay. That she was okay. That heroes could get up again after being knocked down.

When she tried to move, she was met with resistance of some kind. A hand on her shoulder.

Draco.

"No, don't move," her partner hissed. "You'll only make it worse."

Hermione could have sworn she felt something wet drop onto her face. Something that didn't feel like the thin sheen of sweat.

Tears.

Someone was crying.

More voices grew louder around her.

"Miss Granger, can you hear us?" An unfamiliar woman called out to her. "Nod or shake your head if you can.

Hermione obeyed. Thankfully, that didn't hurt at all.

"It's her calf," Draco supplied. "It's been bothering her all day."

The audience continued to buzz all around her. She tried to say something else, to let whoever it was asking the questions know that it had been tight for a while. That she should have known better. That she'd made a horrible mistake that could cost them their reputation, their career, everything.

What did little Eliisa think of her hero now?

She was broken. A disappointment.

Hermione felt herself being lifted, briefly, before she was set down again. Two people carried her off the ice. Someone was holding her left hand. Someone else was holding her right. Another dark figure trailed not far behind. All three were asking questions. If she were more astute and less in shock she might have paid better attention to their wonderings and worries, but it was all she could do to remember to keep breathing.

It wasn't until they made it backstage that Hermione realised just now noisy and chaotic the arena had been. Here, the only sounds she could hear were the beating of her own heart and the voices of people she knew best.

Severus. Mother. Draco.

With the return of her hearing came clarity as well. The fuzzy state she'd been floating in since falling was now growing sharper, more defined.

"Okay, Miss Granger." One of the medics who had carried her off the ice was speaking. "My name is Dr. Pomfrey and I am the head medic for the competition this week. I am a licensed physician, and with your permission, I'm going to examine your leg. May I?"

Hermione managed a nod.

Why did that tiny movement expend so much energy?

Dr. Pomfrey started with her foot, pressing in strategic spots to test for injury.

"I know you injured your calf," she explained as she rolled Hermione's ankle with care. "But I want to cover all our bases." She paused feeling the back of the heel. Then, with a smile, "Nothing wrong with the foot or Achilles Tendon."

A collective sigh of relief passed through the small group. Hermione didn't react at all. The information washed over her.

Dr. Pomfrey continued her journey upward. Hermione watched the path with trepidation, waiting for the prod that would inevitably bring the pain shooting back. The numbness was fading now, replaced by a dull and constant ache.

They were supposed to be celebrating right now. That's what today was about. Success and happiness, not injuries and anxiety.

Guilt crawled up the back of Hermione's throat, keeping a firm grip on her windpipe.

"Breathe, Hermione," a soft voice next to her cooed. "Just breathe. It's gonna be okay." It was Draco offering her comfort, rubbing her back and keeping a steadfast hand over hers.

She couldn't bear to look at him.

"Ah!" Dr. Pomfrey's eyebrows shot up in what Hermione could assume was recognition. "I think I know what's going on. Looks like you've partially torn your soleus. Your calf muscle." The doctor ran her finger up a small spot of the back of her leg. "That, where my index finger is, is a hole. The good news is that it doesn't seem to be a full rupture. That would require surgery and a much more extensive recovery. We'll have to get you to a hospital to confirm and get your treatment plan set."

If only Hermione could remember how to breathe properly.

"What do you think recovery will look like for a partial tear like this?" She heard Severus ask.

"Hard to say yet. She will need time to rest so that the muscle can repair, followed by extensive physical therapy to regain strength and mobility. But it'll be months before she's back on the ice again."

Hermione heard Draco and her mother's breathing hitch.

" _Months?"_ Draco's incredulous tone bordered on rude. "You're saying she won't be able to skate for months? But this is an Olympic year coming up! We—we have to!"

"What she needs," Dr. Pomfrey snapped, "are people by her side to help her recover fully during this difficult time. And her health comes first."

Broken. Disappointment. Worthless.

Again.

No Olympics.

As Hermione tried to take her very next breath, her vision blurred with tears.

She didn't fight it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY GUYS.
> 
> I told you it was going to be a roller coaster when you signed up to read. 
> 
> You thought we were home free? *insert elmo fire gif here* 
> 
> Some of you guessed that this wasn't the end of our bb's troubles. You were right. 
> 
> **IMPORTANT NOTE**
> 
> Unless I somehow manage to write a lot in the next few days (unlikely) I am not going to be updating the story next week. The next update will be on February 3. I just want to make sure I give myself a little buffer. If it makes you feel any better (will it, though?) there are only 5 more chapters left! 
> 
> Until February 3, take care and watch out for calf injuries!


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is taking her time to recover after her injury at World Championships.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you all for waiting an extra week. I know I left our ice dancing bb's in quite a pickle after Hermione's injury at the exhibition following their World Championship win. This chapter picks up 2.5 months later. More notes at the end.
> 
> All the thanks to Graceful Lioness

**Mid-June 2017**

"You're improving," Severus called to him from his place beside the ice. "Your footwork has never been better and you're putting the acrobatic techniques to good use."

Draco leaned forward, one hand on his knee and the other wiping sweat from his brow. "Thanks," he gasped between gulping breaths. "It's coming along. But it'd be easier with a real partner instead of, well…"

He gestured to the bag of sand he'd been using as a stand-in for Hermione.

His skating partner was still far from recovered, despite attending near-nonstop physical therapy for the past six weeks. She'd torn her soleus muscle pretty terribly, and her doctor estimated that it would take at least six months to regain full strength and range of motion.

Hermione had shed her fair share of tears since the first days in April. They'd soaked her pillow and several of his shirts and jumpers. According to her, while physical therapy had its moments of small triumphs and victories, most of it was difficult, tedious, and often painful.

"I just feel so discouraged," she'd admitted two weeks ago as they sat in a café in Sheffield together sipping coffees. "I know a thing or two about hard work. That's not the problem. It's just… I've never worked so hard in my life to see such limited results."

Misery painted each of her features so that she hardly resembled the optimistic, determined Hermione he knew. Instead, she seemed wilted, somehow. Her chocolate eyes were dulled and her curls had lost their sheen. Everything about her demeanor was duller.

It broke Draco's heart.

"You'll get there, Hermione." He tried to offer comfort, reaching for her hand and squeezing. "It'll take some patience but you'll get there. And you always have me. No matter what."

They were empty words, and he knew it. But he didn't know what else to say. When she smiled back at him, the warmth of her lips didn't quite reach her eyes. It was that same dull smile that stayed in Draco's mind when he drove to the arena and skated alone.

Or, in this case, with a bag of sand.

"How are your dance lessons with Hermione going?" Severus asked once Draco lugged the sandbag off the ice. "It's been, what? A month?"

Draco nodded, collapsing into a seat and flipping the straw up on his water bottle. "Yeah, a month since she's been allowed to do some simple dance exercises. Pliés and tendus mostly. We've been working on basic movements and lifts for a couple of weeks now. Her physical therapist comes, too. It's been… good, I guess. We do everything very slowly."

Severus raised his eyebrow, but remained silent. As good of a coach as he was and as close as they had grown over the years, the man was not one to act as counselor. For all the drama that accompanied coaching teenagers, let alone teachers who were as emotionally entangled as he and Hermione, Severus always managed to remain relatively detached from that part of the job.

It wasn't as though Draco expected to receive any sort of advice or sympathy from the man.

"And Hermione, is she coping?" Through the perfunctory tone, Draco detected his worry.

Draco shrugged. "Her dancing is improving every day. She tires easily, though. Doesn't have the stamina she used to." He leaned back with a sigh, pushing the straw back down against the lid. "She's hesitant, I think. When she has the energy, I think she can do more than she allows."

"Oh?" Severus grabbed his clipboard and sat beside Draco. "Perhaps she's afraid to re-injure herself."

Draco nodded. "That could definitely be it. She starts out rehearsals strong. But then she hits a wall. Viktor, her PT… he told me to let Hermione be in control of when she pushes herself. He's always on the sidelines, watching her like a hawk. He seems to know when she can do one more run-through and when she needs to call it quits. I can never tell."

"Naturally. He's a professional. Is he not?"

"I suppose. Still, it's kind of upsetting that I can't read her like I used to. I used to just look at her and _know_ how she was feeling. What she was thinking. Now, I'm not so sure."

It also didn't help that Hermione didn't _talk_ to him like she used to. Well, they still talked. But when it came to dance and movement, Hermione had become very attached to Viktor. Her eyes always fell on him when they did an exercise and she walked straight over to him after they finished running a sequence.

Draco knew that she was just asking for advice—advice that was potentially vital to prevent re-injury. She'd told him so many times in that sweet, reassuring way that was supposed to put his mind at ease.

He _knew_ as much, and yet, it still stung.

Severus sighed. "Just talk to her, Draco. What happened to her is undoubtedly causing her much undue stress. She needs you now more than ever and it would serve you well not to fall into the pitfalls of jealousy."

Draco scoffed. "Jealous? I'm not—"

Severus arched his eyebrow. Draco felt himself deflate almost immediately.

"Fine, fine. I'll talk to her." He pushed himself to his feet. "And I won't let myself get jealous."

Draco packed up his duffel bag, ready to get off the ice and get away from the stupid sandbag. As he finished zipping it, Severus cleared his throat.

"You know I am not the sort to… _meddle._ " His coach was staring at his clipboard, clearly determined not to look at him. "But I am not blind, Draco. I know that the relationship you share is… complicated. It has been for years. The way you two used to moon over each other during practices made me want to gouge my eyes out."

With each passing second, Draco felt cheeks and ears grow hotter and hotter. Severus had noticed? God, how obvious had they been? Especially back when they were teenagers? He didn't want to think about that. Severus continued.

"I had half a mind to say something to you both at least a dozen times. To keep it professional. To have boundaries. But whatever it was, it never interfered with your skating. And when it finally did, that's when the two of you seemed to finally come to your senses."

If Severus was embarrassed, it didn't show. He simply pushed through, his tone still even. "I can appreciate how far the two of you have come in recent years. Just do me a favour, Draco?" His coach finally looked up from his clipboard.

"Yes, sir?" Draco's voice cracked.

"Wait until after the Olympics to do anything too… _rash_."

Draco wanted the floor to swallow him whole. He coughed. "That's the… er… plan, sir."

"Good. Good. And Draco?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Your commitment to Hermione is unmatched. As is hers to you. That much is obvious. And after you finish with the Olympics—which you _will_ —I do sincerely hope you find the kind of happiness you've been waiting for."

It was the most heartfelt thing Severus had ever said to him. And he'd known the man for sixteen years. Draco wasn't sure whether to feel heartily confused or touched.

"Er… thank you, sir. I— _we_ hope so, too." The words felt strange coming from his mouth. It was the first time he'd admitted his feelings for his skating partner out loud to anyone but Hermione or Dr. Puddifoot. It was indirect, but still. It felt… big.

Slightly shaken but with an odd little smile on his face, Draco headed out of the arena.

~*~*~*~

Eager to share the burden of his embarrassment, Draco hurried off to Hermone's flat. He had a key to let himself in, but gave a courtesy call as he pulled out of the car park to let her know he was on his way. Thirty minutes later, he knocked on the door, only to be greeted by a burly-looking man.

"Viktor."

"Draco."

The two men greeted each other in a familiar, if stiff, way. Viktor held the door open as Draco stepped inside. Hermione was in the living room, using the back of a chair for support as she went through her therapy exercises. Her brows were furrowed and her eyes were trained straight ahead. Her mouth, as it was so often these days, was set in a frown as she stood on her left leg and raised and lowered her heel repeatedly.

As he approached, Draco could hear her grunt with the effort it took to keep up. It was nearing the end of her session with Viktor, and she was bound to be exhausted.

"Come on, Hermione. You're nearly there," Viktor encouraged, stepping close to her. "We just need to adjust your posture."

"My posture's fine," she grumbled as his hands manipulated her so that she couldn't use the chair to push herself up as much. "I'm a former ballerina for godsakes."

Draco could have felt jealousy that another man's hands were on Hermione's waist and back, but what good would that have done? His younger self would have made many sarcastic comments to hide his discomfort. But now all he wanted to do was cheer Hermione up. With all the pressure of the last couple of months, it was obvious that she was starting to crumble.

He wanted to make her smile. Make her laugh. And he hoped that his little idea of a joke would do just that. Swooping in, he inserted himself on the couch just behind where Hermione was hard at work.

She glanced over her shoulder, offering as much of a smile as she could muster at the moment.

"Posture, Hermione," Viktor warned. "Don't use your arms when your leg gets tired."

"Fine, fine."

"You know," Draco piped up as soon as she corrected herself. "Overall you look pretty good. Your feet and arms are correct, but your posture could use some work."

He threw her a shit-eating grin as he referenced some of the very first words she ever spoke to his stuck-up, childhood self.

It took a moment for his intentions to sink in. When they did, Hermione's eyes went wide and then she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Focus, Hermione," Viktor scolded.

"You got me in trouble," she complained when Viktor finally packed up and left about ten minutes later. "If Viktor gives me extra work next week, it's all your fault."

"I'll happily accept the blame if it meant getting you riled out of your perpetual melancholy."

Though he spoke with a smile, he felt rather deflated as the meaning of his words sank in. Hermione, it seemed, felt much the same.

"Melancholy?" Hermione shrugged the suggestion off as easily as a silk scarf slips from the shoulders. "I'm just tired is all."

She sat down on the couch as Draco headed to the kitchen to fetch tea and some biscuits. "That's bollocks and you know it," he called with his head poked inside a cupboard. "You've been depressed ever since they fixed you up with a boot the day we got back from Finland. And don't try to deny it."

He could practically see Hermione sighing dramatically as she lounged on the couch, though there was no way to confirm his thoughts, seeing as he was messing with the electric kettle and plating some of her favourite chocolate biscuits.

It felt nice to be useful—to be a part of her life. Right after the injury, he hadn't left her side for nearly a month. Although she wore a boot and could walk, the pain had been excruciating. Or, at least, that's what her face expressed as it contorted and all her muscles stiffened. She denied that she was in pain most days and had wanted to push through, but luckily, Mrs. Granger had joined the valiant effort to keep Hermione sedentary for the first few weeks.

Hermione's mum took time off work to drive up to Sheffield, and thank goodness for it. She hadn't just done the cooking, cleaning, and washing. She also drove Hermione to her Uni classes and, most importantly of all, helped Hermione in and out of the shower and get dressed.

Draco would have volunteered, but with their relationship in its current status, that just didn't seem appropriate. He'd have done it willingly if Hermione had asked him, but somehow, her mum seemed like the better option.

There would be other opportunities to help her like that in the future. He was sure of it. After all, what was it that people always repeated in films?

_In sickness and in health…_

Not that Draco was getting ahead of himself. They weren't even dating, let alone ready for such a thing…

Yet, once the idea took hold in his mind, it held on with tenacity. He and Hermione… together. _Actually_ together. She told him she loved him. They promised to wait until the Olympics to actually act on that love, and so far, they'd been successful. Hand holding and kisses on the cheek. That was as much as they allowed themselves for now.

But as soon as the Olympics were over, Draco knew that the first thing he wanted to do was take Hermione out to the nicest dinner he could provide and then kiss her senseless.

And then…

The future was full of possibilities.

For now, though, he needed to focus on the task at hand: boosting Hermione's confidence and caring for her as she prepared to take to the ice again. Which she hadn't. Not since April.

Draco added just the right amount of milk and sugar that Hermione liked before bringing the steaming mug of tea right to her. She accepted it with a grateful smile before resting her lips on the rim and sipping.

"Perfect as always. Thanks."

"Of course."

He walked back into the kitchen and pulled Hermione's large ice pack from the freezer. Wrapping it in the pillowcase she kept out for its use, he returned to the living room and helped Hermione situate it around her calf as he knew she should after physical therapy.

Then he settled beside her, and she snuggled into him, stretching out her leg on the plush ottoman with a sigh. This was their routine now. Not hours upon hours of exercise and training. Not endless competitions and tours. Just… _being._ Together. It was different, but in a good way. Sometimes they talked. Other times, they just watched movies together until they both nodded off.

It was comfortable. Broken in, like their most well-loved, ice skates. The kind that wouldn't give them blisters, no matter how long they wore them or how hard they trained. It felt a lot like love. Because that's exactly what it was.

Today was a movie-watching day. Hermione flipped through the options on Netflix before settling on something they'd seen before. He typically didn't like to re-watch most things so often, but it was a comfort to her, watching some of her favourites over and over again.

The only movie he didn't mind watching on repeat was _The Princess Diaries_ , but that was likely because it was basically ingrained in his memory by now. He could hardly remember a year in his life when he hadn't watched it. And besides, that particular movie made Hermione especially happy.

Today's movie was slightly less amusing, but Draco kept himself occupied by running his fingers up and down Hermione's spine. She leaned into his touch, humming every once in a while. When she finished her tea, Draco set the mug aside and got to work stretching out and massaging Hermione's legs very carefully. He started with her non-injured leg, and she seemed to like it, occasionally humming like before. But when he reached for the calf with the tear, she tensed up and placed a hand on his forearm.

"Can you… not massage there?" She pursed her lips in an awkward sort of grimace. "Viktor already did a lot with me today. He's a professional, and I don't want to mess it up."

Draco's heart sank a bit. It was almost like she considered Viktor's fingers full of magical healing properties while his fingers were clumsy. Untrained. Dangerous, even.

Fucking Viktor. All he wanted to do was help, and instead he was left feeling like shit.

"But you could rub my feet or my shoulders if you're feeling generous?" Hermione's voice had gone soft, almost as if she could sense his self-deprecating inner monologue. "I'd really appreciate it, Draco."

If he'd had even just one more drop of pride in him, he'd have refused on principle. But he loved Hermione, and making her comfortable and happy came before any sort of pride he had left. With a begrudging smile, Draco pulled her feet onto his lap and got to work.

His hands never left her body as the movie played. When she was properly stretched out, Draco traced his fingers up Hermione's leg and over her hip. He watched as she shivered, her eyes glancing in his direction. She was hesitating, he could tell.

They were dancing around what could be. What might be if they allowed themselves to lower their inhibitions. He knew the shape of her thigh, the softness of her skin. He knew her by heart, every single inch. How easy it would be to simply… let his hand wander. Judging by the blush rising in Hermione's cheeks, she likely wouldn't mind. He'd ask, of course, if he wanted to chase more.

But he wasn't.

They'd made their promises, and Draco intended to keep them. They only had about eight more months. Eight months of hard, relentless work, and then they'd be free. Free to be whoever they wanted to be for each other. Free to be in love.

But for now, Draco's fingers found her hand and held it with a light squeeze.

Hermione squeezed back.

"How was training today?" she asked once the credits for the movie began rolling. "Is the sandbag as lovely as ever?"

"On the contrary," Draco sighed and leaned onto Hermione. "You are far lovelier. And besides, the sandbag can't do a proper twizzle."

Although Hermione laughed at first, the corners of her mouth were quick to turn downward. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I wish I wasn't ruining our season."

Draco pulled back so he could get a better look at his partner, and the misery painted on her face made his heart sink. "Ruining? Hermione, the season hasn't even started yet. You're scheduled to get back on the ice next week. We've been doing lifts for a couple weeks in dance. You haven't ruined anything."

When she didn't respond right away, he added for good measure, "And have you forgotten? We've already qualified for the Olympics."

This made Hermione's lips twitch into a fraction of a smile. "I guess, but still…" She sighed, drawing one leg up to her chest and resting her cheek on her knee. "I just feel… useless. You're off working hard, training in all of our new techniques and routines. I see how much stronger you're getting. And you still get to go out on the ice every day to do what you love. And what am I doing? Sitting on the couch and stretching?"

"You're _recovering_ , Hermione," Draco urged. "You injured yourself pretty traumatically and that takes time. The more patience you have now, the more likely it is that we'll skate without problems at the Olympics."

"And what do you think is going to happen when we get to the Olympics?" she snapped, lifting her head. "Yes, we qualified, but think about who's going to be there. You know as well as I do how hard Fleur and Roger train. You know they're using every minute they have to improve. By the time we get to Korea, they'll be skating at a whole new level. Meanwhile, I'm straining and scraping just to get back to where I was before."

Hermione leaned back into the couch, scrubbing her face in her hands and groaning. Draco reached forward and took her hand. This seemed to have an effect, because she peeked at him between her fingers and sighed.

"I'm sorry, Draco. I don't mean to whine and dump all this on you." She flexed her hand and opened his palm to interlock their fingers. "You've been there for me every step of the way and don't need to drown in my self-pity. I just keep expecting myself to be able to bounce back. Wake up one day and be fine. Sometimes I feel like you look at me like… like you're expecting it, too."

Her eyes were full of apology as they found his.

"Hermione, not at all." He jumped at the chance to contradict her false assumption. "I don't expect you to just bounce back. If anything, I want you to take your time. And if I ever made you feel bad or useless, I am so, so sorry."

"I know you didn't mean anything by it." Hermione placed a gentle hand on his knee. "You would never make me feel bad on purpose. You probably didn't even know… I guess I'm just sensitive these days." She shrugged, the slump in her shoulders making her look more miserable than ever.

"You're not being overly sensitive." Draco's hand found hers, and he peered up at her distressed face. "You got seriously injured right after the most emotionally draining season we've ever had. I think you have _more_ than earned the right to take your time."

"But that's just it," Hermione whispered through a tight jaw. "I don't _want_ to take time. What I _want_ is to get back to normal and not have to see constant disappointment on everyone's face when I can't do something as well as used to. Like yesterday. With Tonks." She paused to chew on her lip. "When I asked to take an extra break, I saw how she looked at me. It's how she looked at me when she realised I can't hold a position as long as I used to or when I refused to do that lift last week."

Draco frowned, recalling the incident in question. Tonks had asked them to do a lift from one of their old routines. The lift, itself, was fine. But Hermione was expected to jump to dismount. He'd seen the dread in her eyes when Tonks had given the order. The way she'd drawn her foot in. Blinked and stared at the ceiling as she told their teacher she didn't feel ready, voice shaking.

He'd casually tried to suggest that they work on something else, but it had been Viktor who demanded that they adjust the lift to accommodate Hermione's injury more.

" _She_ was in the wrong, Hermione. Not you." Draco squeezed Hermione's hand again. "You're making really good progress, but it has to be at the right pace. As much as I hate to admit it, Viktor knows best on this one. And if you're following his directions, then you're doing what's best."

Hermione leaned into him, though she still looked miserable.

"And next time we're with Tonks, I'll tell her to bugger off if she so much as thinks about coercing you into doing something you're not ready for."

This, it seemed, was the right thing to say.

A smile tugged at Hermione's lips.

She squeezed his hand back.

" _Will_ you now?" A hint of playfulness seeped into her tone. "You'd tell off Tonks on my behalf? I'd think she'd eat you alive." Hermione nudged his ribs with her elbow, one eyebrow raised.

"Tonks? Are you kidding me?" Draco scoffed. "I'm not afraid of her."

Hermione's other eyebrow raised to join its twin.

Draco corrected himself. "I'm not afraid of her when it comes to sticking up for you. She probably just sees how well you're doing and assumes you're back to normal."

Hermione snorted and shook her head. "Sometimes it feels like I'll never get back to normal."

"But you will be. _Soon_." He pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her deflated frame. Feeling her pressed flush against him made his heart flutter. He tried to keep his voice steady as he whispered against her wild curls. "We're starting back at the rink next week. That'll help. Before you know it, Severus will be on our case about our arm angles again."

"Oh, spare me."

She was smiling against him—he could feel the stretch of her lips against his cheek.

How easy would it be, to simply turn his face—just a little, and meet those lips with his own? Draco pictured doing just that, kissing Hermione, letting himself melt into her arms, offering her comfort and reassurance with his touch in a way that he wasn't sure his words could achieve.

He reached his hand up to cup her cheek against his palm. Drawing back a little, his eyes met hers, soft and warm. He brushed an errant curl from her face.

It really was the most natural thing in the world, loving her.

After all these years, he loved her even more— _more_ fiercely, _more_ ardently. He felt closer to her now than he ever had, even closer than those years in their early twenties when they had scarcely spent a moment apart.

" _I'm in love with you,"_ she'd said to him two months ago. " _I have been for as long as I remember."_

But it wasn't simply the knowledge that their feelings were the same. That wasn't what made Draco feel as though his very soul bled into hers.

They'd worked hard to get to this point, sitting together on her couch and speaking openly to each other. They'd cried and cursed and made so many mistakes. And through it all, somehow, miraculously, she still loved him. And he loved her.

It was beyond love, what the two of them shared. It was practically divine.

They'd promised not to be together until after the Olympics, and Draco intended to keep that promise. Still, his lips found the softness of her cheek and pressed there, slow and gentle. They lingered, and Draco's eyes were open just enough to see Hermione's flutter closed in apparent bliss.

They'd shared so much physical affection in the past.

Somehow, this simple kiss was worth more than all of it combined.

"I care about you more than any Olympic Gold Medal, Hermione Granger," he murmured against her cheek, searching for the words he thought she needed to hear. "My love for you doesn't hinge on our success. Even though I have full confidence you'll make a full recovery and a spectacular return to the ice, please know that we're going to be okay."

Then, for good measure, he grinned and added. "The Olympics can go and fuck off if you're not healed by then."

This time, it was his cheek that was met with the soft pressure of Hermione's lips.

~*~*~*~

The sandbag was especially awkward in his arms today. No matter how he rearranged the damn thing as he held it to his chest or passed it over his head, it sagged to one side or other or flopped away from in a way that felt distinctly unlike Hermione.

But no matter. That dreadful bag would not play the role of his partner for much longer. Hermione would be here in a little while for her first foray back onto the ice since being injured. There wasn't much of a plan. They'd skate around the rink a few times and try their hand at some relatively simple sequences. Perhaps a lift or two as well, depending on how well Hermione's calf handled being back in skates.

It wasn't much and Hermione would surely be put out by how _far behind_ they were falling, but considering where they had been two months ago, Draco thought that getting back out on the ice at all was a miracle.

It was all about baby steps.

A short trip around the ice would give way to longer practices.

Longer practices would give way to confidence.

Confidence would give way to a strong performance, perhaps even at the Olympics.

And then…

Draco grinned at the prospects of what could come next.

Adjusting the sandbag in his arms, Draco started another lap around the ice to rehearse the lift he hoped to eventually execute with Hermione safely in his arms.

The next time he stopped by the edge of the rink, he plopped his makeshift skate partner on the ground, covered his blades, and flicked the silicone straw to his water bottle up. The cool liquid coated his parched throat. He checked his phone and sighed. Time seemed to be crawling by. Though it seemed like ages since he'd last looked, only a few minutes had passed.

Had Hermione been there, she'd've quoted some old adage at him. Something about a watched pot. His mouth curled into a half-smile at the thought.

God, he was _so_ gone for her.

"I would think that someone who was preparing for the Olympics should be a bit more… fastidious in their efforts."

The voice cut across the frigid air, sharp and unforgiving. Though familiar, the sound set Draco on edge rather than bringing him comfort.

He turned to face the source of the voice, approaching him on the side of the rink.

"Father."

The title felt wrong on his tongue, a far warmer word than the man walking towards him.

"Draco." Father raised his eyebrows slightly and perched on a bench two rows back. "I see you are quite busy with your—" He cleared his throat, eyes falling to the sandbag now slumped against the rink wall. "— _partner_."

"Not that it's any of your business, Father," Draco said as he folded the straw flush against the lid of his water bottle, "but Hermione is actually coming back to the ice today. Her recovery has been remarkable, really."

The brief downturn in Father's lips told Draco that this was news to him.

"A miracle," Father posited, settling his hands over the top of his walking stick. "Tell me, son. How does it feel to be going into the biggest year of your skating career in the worst position possible?"

Draco grimaced. He could see exactly what Father was trying to do. The man wasn't exactly opaque in his intentions. Lucius Malfoy had tried to condition him since birth to crave one thing above all else: winning.

For many years, that had been his whole world; his entire reason for being. Draco thought of the makeshift gold medal he'd crafted as a child, how he used to step onto a make believe podium and wave to an imaginary crowd.

That had been the epitome of happiness to his younger self.

Now… well, he'd grown beyond that.

"My position is none of your concern, Father." Draco turned his back on the man, facing the ice once more. "If you recall the last we spoke, I do believe I told you to fuck off."

"A temporary lapse of judgement," Lucius asserted.

Though his voice remained steady, Draco could feel in the vibrating of the air that this was the calm before the storm.

"I assure you, it was not." Draco grabbed his zip-up and threw it on. "I meant each and every word, completely and without hesitation or regret. I really, truly do wish you'd fuck off and stay that way."

"Well that's quite a shame, considering what I was planning to offer you."

The air grew even more still, though Draco wasn't sure it was possible. His mind screamed at him to follow through on his threat and just ignore the man who had made his life a living hell for years. Yet, somehow, he turned around and heard himself say something different.

"Oh? And what's that?"

"The chance to begin training right away. The chance to actually have a shot this year."

Father held out a photograph, and it was with shaking fingers that Draco took it. There, dressed in a frilly purple costume, was a young woman. Vaguely familiar. Mildly pretty.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Draco waved the photo about.

"She is your new skating partner."

"New… skating partner?" Draco's head snapped up, and he met his father's gaze with disdain. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I've spoken to Miss Brown, and she said she'd be delighted to come aboard this season. Perhaps even beyond. She is an accomplished skater and dancer and will be more than capable of carrying you through the Olympics with high scores."

It was then that Draco realised how this woman… Miss Brown… was vaguely familiar. He'd skated with her years ago, during that initial trial to find him a partner. If his memory served him, she'd been an absolute airhead back then.

Time was kind in many ways, but he doubted that was any sort of curable malady.

The _audacity_ of his father to even suggest such a ridiculous notion… Draco's jaw tightened with the effort it took to stop himself from spitting every last drop of vitriol in his body at his father. When he finally managed to speak, the words came out as angry sputterings.

"Have you—? Are you—?" His brow furrowed and he licked his lips, searching for the right thing to say. When his eyes found his father's, years of suffering in silence, being pushed and slapped and told off for merely being a child came bubbling to the surface. Draco felt his lip curl in a defiant sneer.

"How dare you, Father," he heard himself say, his voice full of poison. "How fucking _dare_ you suggest that I abandon Hermione."

"Oh, for goodness sakes, you're not abandoning her, boy! You're simply letting her go. Her time with you has come and gone and you've still got the chance to win—to earn a gold medal and bring greatness to another generation of Malfoys—"

"Fuck that!" Draco spat, taking a step closer to his father. " _Fuck_ your idea of greatness. I don't want anything to do with it. I've already brought greatness to my own name without your help. It was _me_ who found Hermione in the first place. _Me_ who woke up early for years and trained until I couldn't move any more. _Me_ who got slapped by you. _Me_ who got the _hell_ out of your clutches as soon as I could and became self-sufficient so I didn't have to listen to you any more."

Draco felt his nostrils flare as he poured every bit of pain his father had ever caused him back into his words. He stepped closer until he was mere centimetres from his father. If he wanted to, he could have reached out and pushed the man. Given him a taste of his own medicine.

But then, on the other side of the arena, Draco heard the tell-tale sign of a door swinging open.

"Draco?" a voice called out. "Are you there?"

This voice was familiar, but in the most wonderful and warm sort of way.

_Hermione._

Her presence fortified him, helping his more violent impulses to wane and his heart to beat steadily in his chest.

When he turned back to face his father, the hatred had all but faded, instead replaced by indifference.

"You put me through hell and back, Father. But do you know who was by my side for all of that?"

He was met by ashen silence. Of course he had nothing to say. Draco had cornered him, the coward that he was.

After a moment, Lucius pursed his lips. "I suppose you're going to say Miss Granger, are you not?"

"I am. Hermione is, always has been, and always will be my partner and biggest supporter. If you think that you can lure me away from her—as you've wanted for years—then you clearly don't know me—know _us_ —at all."

Draco heard footsteps growing louder, signaling Hermione's approach. He needed to end this conversation swiftly. The last thing she needed on her first day back was this sort of negativity hanging over her head. She was already so on-edge about today.

"If that was all you came to discuss," Draco hissed, his jaw clenched, "then I suggest you leave. I have a very busy day ahead of me, and it's a _closed_ rehearsal."

Lucius stood, drawing himself to his full height. He loomed over Draco, wearing the kind of hateful expression Draco saw in some of his worst nightmares.

"I am your _father!_ " Lucius seethed. He spoke through his teeth, his whole body shaking as he clutched his walking stick, looking like a volcano about to erupt and destroy everything in its path. "You _will_ respect me! Who do you think paid for years of lessons? Who found you the best coaches money could buy? Your success belongs to _me_ , boy."

Draco could have been angry. He probably should have.

" _You?_ My Grand Prix titles and World Champion titles belong to _you?_ " A disbelieving laugh burst from his lips. "Not a single one of those titles was earned while I was in your custody. By the time Hermione and I won our first major competition, _we_ were entirely self-funded through our own hard work. Not just prize money, but sponsorships as well. No, Father, I haven't needed _you_ in a long time. And I don't see myself needing you again."

From behind him, Draco heard the telltale soft clanging of footsteps against metal bleachers. It seemed it was too late to keep Hermione away. He watched as Lucius's eyes widened slightly at the sight of her approach, and judging the way Hermione's breath caught, they'd seen each other and it was useless to try and prevent a confrontation.

"You're making a mistake, Draco." The man's eyes flickered between him and a spot just behind him, presumably, Hermione. The grip on his walking stick tightened. "Before you met this girl, you were a good son. A _respectful_ son who knew his place and had ambition—"

"What the hell do you call my entire career, then?" Draco spat. "Years and years of accomplishments, and you're choosing _now,_ an _Olympic_ season that we've qualified for, to tell me that's not good enough? That I had no _fucking ambition_?"

Draco felt something touch his elbow. A gentle hand. Hermione's.

She likely wanted him to back down, to just let this be and ignore his father.

What he didn't expect was for her to surge past him with fire in her eyes and stand toe-to-toe with the man. Though she barely came up past his chin, there was a power in her presence that made his father look small, almost. She pointed a finger at his chest as she looked right up at him.

"Now you listen to me and you listen well, Lucius Malfoy."

Lucius drew back slightly at the intrusion on his personal space.

Draco had to shake his head. He'd never heard Hermione speak this way before, pure fury and danger. Had her hair not been wound up in its usual tight bun, it would have been crackling with electricity. She continued, and he hung on her every word.

"I don't give a damn how much money you throw at us—at Draco. He is not for sale, nor am I going anywhere. I don't care if I don't rest for the next eight months. I'll use every ounce of my strength and every minute of every day to get us onto that podium at the Olympics. And after we've got medals hanging around our necks, I _dare_ you to call me unexceptional again."

There was a venom to her tone that could kill, and Draco suddenly found himself incredibly grateful that he'd never been on the receiving end of it.

But then, just as quickly as the venom came, it flowed out of her. When she opened her mouth to speak to his father again, she almost looked like she wanted to cry. And what she said made _Draco_ want to cry. "You say you wanted a son with ambition? Well, you're looking at him. Draco is the most hard-working, ambitious—"

"Failure of a skater who choked when given the opportunity for greatness." Lucius interrupted, his eyes boring into Hermione's. "Yes, I know exactly who my son is, Miss Granger. You led him down the path to that exact moment, and yet, somehow, he still follows you around like some lovesick puppy. I thought I taught him to have more of a spine."

Father's eyes traveled back to Draco, his face set in a sneer.

"Pathetic."

He inhaled through his nose and side-stepped Hermione into the aisle as if preparing to leave. Before he could move, Draco cut him off, blocking his path out of the bleachers.

"I'm not the one who's pathetic. You are." Draco looked his father up and down and scoffed at the jewel-encrusted walking stick, the wildly expensive black overcoat, the thousand-dollar leather shoes. "You've spent your entire life trying to impress people, bribing your way to the top and staying there practically by force with your deep pockets. You talk about building a legacy, Father, but what will yours be? That you won a gold medal once and have been chasing the high ever since? That you chased away your only son, who now hates you?"

Lucius raised his hand like he had done many times before, but Draco was older now. More agile. Stronger. He reached out and held his father's arm in place.

When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper. "If you ever so much as come near me or Hermione again, I will personally ensure that the name Lucius Malfoy becomes synonymous with a washed up has-been who peaked thirty years ago."

Lucius looked properly taken-aback this time, eyes wide and any trace of haughtiness evaporated from his features. It took him a moment to recover, and when he did, he flicked one eyebrow up and grimaced.

"Very well." His tone no longer held vitriol, but was now clipped. "Just don't come crying to me when your efforts fail again."

Beside him, Hermione scoffed and began walking along the row to get to the next aisle over. "Just leave him," she called. "His so-called support is _easily replaceable_. And we've got work to do."

Draco watched as Hermione walked away, her gait steady and her head held high.

God, he loved her.

"Well, I certainly hope you're happy." Father pushed past him and made to leave. "Choosing failure instead of success. All because of _her_."

Draco wasn't sure what made him say it, especially to this man. But the moment the words left his lips, he knew he was speaking the truth. And he didn't care who knew it.

He turned his head to see Hermione lacing up her skates beside the rink.

Draco smiled down at her, smiling at the back of her head. "I am happy. And her? I'm going to marry her. One day."

Then, not bothering to wait for his father's spluttering to cease, he took the steps down by two, landing with a thump beside Hermione.

"Ready to go?" she asked, an unwavering, eager smile dancing on her lips. It was the first real smile he'd seen on her in months.

Draco removed his blade covers and pushed the barrier open.

"With you? Always."

They stepped onto the ice together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe there are just a few chapters left? I certainly can't. This is the longest thing I've ever written, too. 30 chapters? The Gift of Life is set to be 29. The Gift of Joy was only 22. Thank you all for following on this wild roller coaster with me. 
> 
> Honestly, having Hermione tell off Lucius was legendary to write. It felt so damn good.
> 
> And I will have you know, those are the last words Draco ever speaks to Lucius in this series. If you would all like to collectively yeet him down some stairs, I wouldn't blame you.
> 
> Also, I have to say that I love writing Hermione and Draco's closeness now. Years of therapy has done them a bit of good. What's that? Actual open, honest communication? Now THAT'S sexy.
> 
> That's it for now, dear readers. I eagerly await what you have to say!


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With three months to go until the Pyeongchang Olympics, it's getting down the wire. Draco and Hermione still have a considerable amount to work on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're really coming down to it, aren't we?
> 
> As to what happens in this chapter, let's just say that a select few of you are psychics. And have been for a long time. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this 10K word chapter. We're ticking closer to the Olympics! 
> 
> Love to Graceful Lioness!

**Early November 2017**

The early-morning click of a burner was the metronome of her life's rhythm. The sun had yet to rise, but Hermione was already awake and preparing for another busy day. Coffee was brewing in the bright red Smeg machine that Mum had gifted her for her birthday, and she stood watch over the stove, preparing porridge for two.

Draco was supposed to be stopping by at any minute. They had plans to eat together before heading to the rink for their six a.m. start. Despite the most intense training Hermione had ever experienced, she and Draco had been focusing on taking care of their bodies more than ever this season. Every meal, every nap, every exercise felt, to Hermione, like a gamble. If she ate strawberries with her porridge, would it somehow impact her ability to skate better that day? What would serve her more: a short twenty-minute kip backstage or twenty more minutes spent running lift sequences? And if she did those things, would that somehow impact her chances to get onto the podium in Pyeongchang?

If not for Draco, Hermione would have been feeling overwhelmed for months. Had they been years younger, he would have been the one obsessing over their path to victory. But somehow, their positions had been reversed. He was the one keeping her calm, reminding her to take small decisions in stride.

As if on cue, she heard the telltale sound of a key turning in her front door. After glancing at the pot to make sure it wouldn't burn in the two minutes she would be away, she strode to the entry to greet her skating partner.

"Morning," Draco called as he opened her front closet to hang up his black peacoat. "Did you hear the news?"

"News?"

"About the Grand Prix Final."

Hermione felt her stomach drop at the mention of the season she and Draco had given up to accommodate her injury.

"Er, who won?" She led Draco back to the kitchen, where the porridge was bubbling away. She stirred the pot while he retrieved two mugs and filled them with coffee, as was their routine.

"Fleur and Roger. No surprise there. You've seen their routines this year." He shrugged and handed her the blue floral mug she'd picked up in Helsinki.

She accepted it with a half-smile. "Good for them."

They sipped in silence for a moment until Hermione turned back to the stove to divvy out the porridge.

"Are you… okay?" Draco asked as he fetched spoons from the flatware drawer. "You seem upset."

"I'm not upset, at least about the results. Fleur and Roger deserve to do well. I guess, I just wish…" She trailed off as she set two steaming bowls into the table. Draco sat and offered her an empathetic look. He reached for her hand when she took her place beside him. "I just wish we could be there, competing with them."

"I do, too."

They both took bites of their breakfast, soaking in the anxiety. After another sip of coffee, Hermione swallowed and voiced something that had been on her mind for a while. "I also wish we were more prepared than we are. I mean, our Short Dance is okay. But our Free Dance—"

"It needs work."

"It's a mess."

Hermione raised her eyebrows when Draco opened his mouth, likely to try and convince her that their Free Dance, set to Vivaldi's _Four Seasons_ , was on its way. And the sight of her skeptical face, he shut his mouth quickly.

They continued to eat in silence.

"How are you feeling today?" Draco asked once his bowl was considerably emptier. "I'm a little sore, myself."

Hermione rolled her shoulders, as if to test the waters. Yesterday had been an off-ice day. They'd spent several hours working with an acrobatic coach from Cirque du Soleil, refining lift techniques and practising newer, bolder lifts than they'd ever attempted. After coming home, she'd covered herself in ice bags before settling on the couch to watch telly.

"Oh, much better than yesterday afternoon. I'm really feeling those glute exercises, though."

She watched as Draco's eyes drifted briefly downward. His cheeks coloured slightly and he responded with a quiet, "Me, too. Cirque du Soleil is no joke."

She chuckled. "You've got that right."

Hermione scooped the last bite of her porridge out of her bowl, handing it to Draco as he stood. "And your leg?" he asked as he carried their dishes to the sink.

She flexed her calf, testing her range of motion. "It's good, I think. Still no pain."

From over by the sink, Draco smiled back at her. "Good. That's good. You ready for a full day today?"

Hermione nodded. "Yeah. Definitely." She stood and gathered her duffel bag from the entranceway as Draco put his coat back on.

Until a couple months ago, they had been taking it easier, abbreviating their rehearsals to not over-exert Hermione's leg. As she'd gotten stronger and more confident, they'd stayed on the ice longer and longer until now, when they were doing nearly full days of nonstop training.

Hermione was drained, but her heart was full and hopeful. They were on a precipice of something great, she could just tell. With just a little more effort, a little more time, they'd have a solid chance of getting on that podium.

Draco's silver Audi was parked out front, and Hermione climbed into the passenger seat. He started the car and pulled onto the street. One of his hands sat on the wheel and the other reached over to the passenger's seat to grasp Hermione's right hand.

Some top-forty song was playing on the radio. Above them, street lamps flashed orange as they drove past in yet another steady beat that made up her life's rhythm.

Draco's fingers laced through hers.

They'd started holding hands quite a lot, especially in the moments they had alone.

After Severus left the rink and their voices were the only ones that echoed around the arena.

In quiet evenings, when they were both too tired to move from the couch, her hand found his, and they sat in content silence while they comfort-watched some film or other.

When they went out, too. Not on dates. Because they wouldn't date. _Couldn't_ date.

Not yet.

They took walks in the park. Attended the ballet. Went to the cinema.

Although she loved the ballet, the latter was her favourite. In the dark anonymity of a cinema, they could hold hands without fear of a paparazzi spotting them. There, Draco's fingers would skim her skin, running up and down her bare forearm. Though his touch was light, his fingers made her feel as though her skin was alight. Sometimes, she was the one reaching for him instead. When her own fingers trailed up his arm, touching the soft hairs there, she could also feel when a great shudder flooded Draco's body, goose pimples spreading across his skin and shivers shooting up Draco's spine.

Even in the dark, there was no mistaking the bulge in his trousers.

The temptation was there, each time, plain and open and there for the taking. All Hermione would have to do was reach a little farther, just beyond his arm, and press gently. It would be easy. In the dark, no one would notice, surely. She could just… unzip him… pull out that part of him that was once so familiar.

He could do the same. His hands weren't far at all from the apex of her thighs. He could rub those his fingers against her knickers. Maybe he could push them aside, sink those same fingers inside of her.

Films played on the screen, but the possibility of a whole different story played like a film in Hermione's mind.

She could stroke him to completion as he pumped his gloriously long, thick fingers inside of her. Fingers that held her steady, kept her safe, and had given her the greatest pleasure. She and Draco could find bliss together, sitting together in the dark.

It would be easy. Yet, for all the temptation that crossed Hermione's mind, she and Draco never moved their fingers beyond hands and forearms. It was an unspoken agreement from their conversation all those months ago.

Not until the Olympics.

It would all come to a head in just over three months.

Then they would be free.

But until then, holding hands in Draco's car on the way to the rink was as intimate as they allowed themselves to be.

On the ice, though, all that went out the window.

"You're not holding her tight enough," Severus complained from his spot beside the rink during their third run-through of _Luck Be A Lady_ , their Short Dance number. "Draco, really pull her in close. I shouldn't see a single bit of space between your bodies, yet, what am I seeing?"

Draco's hand, splayed on her back, pushed her forward a bit until her breasts were pressed against his solid chest.

Had they not been doing this for years, Draco would have surely blushed scarlet.

It was a fun routine. Severus suggested the music in an uncharacteristically eager moment that summer. Eager, of course, in the sense that he'd sent them each an email at around two-thirty in the morning.

 _This is it_ , the message read. No greeting. No signature. No explanation. Just those three words and the song file.

From Severus, that was practically jumping for joy.

It turned out to be a good idea. The song was seductive, yet timeless. Suggestive, yet classy. Draco really leaned into the acting as they developed a storyline for the dance.

Had it been any other season, Hermione would have been fully enjoying every minute on the ice. She'd have been smiling as much as Draco. But this season's return to the ice was accompanied by a far darker cloud than normal.

Although the pain in her calf had largely subsided, her first couple of months back on the ice were painful in another way. Vivid flashbacks plagued her vision and her muscle memory when they attempted lifts. They'd begin the lifts well enough and pass through all the necessary steps successfully. But then when it came time for Hermione to dismount, it all fell apart.

The moment her blades touched the ice again, it was almost as though she could feel her muscle tear, feel the panic overtake her again.

Sometimes, Draco was fast enough to catch her when her knees gave out.

Other times, she collapsed onto the ice, groping her calf to chase some phantom pain.

Hermione always apologised over and over when this happened, cheeks burning with shame for causing yet another delay in their training. Severus grumbled and accepted those apologies, but Draco refused to hear a single one.

" _Please_ stop saying you're sorry," he'd say as he pulled her back to her feet. "You're okay. We'll just run it again. Do you need a minute?"

He was patient, time and time again. It didn't matter how long it took, how often they stopped. Even when Hermione groaned with frustration at herself, burying her face in her hands, he was always right there, whispering reassuring words to her each time.

Hermione could have kissed him for all the empathy he showed her each time she wavered.

She didn't kiss him, of course. But she could have.

More healing came with time, and after so many months spent on the ice, the frequency of the flashbacks faded and they were able to more fully immerse themselves in rehearsal.

On this particular day, they pulled into the car park as the dashboard clock illuminated 5:52 as the time. As usual, Severus's black sedan sat in the spot just to the left. However, today there was also a third car. Normally, the car park was empty at this time of day, save for the two usual vehicles.

"Did Severus invite someone, do you reckon?" Draco asked as he slung his duffel bag over his shoulder. He shot a look at the green hatchback and furrowed his brow. "Technical coach? God knows we need some work."

Hermione shrugged. "Could be. Only one way to find out."

Their guest was sitting beside Severus on a bench just outside of the rink when they stepped through the double doors. Whereas their coach greeted them with his usual terse nod, this man stood and extended his arms, offering a warm smile from beneath shaggy, honey-coloured locks and a matching moustache.

"Hermione! Draco! I haven't seen you in so long," Remus cried in welcome as they made their approach. "It's been, what? Ten years?"

"Something like that." Draco grinned as he reached out and the men clasped hands. "Good to see you, sir."

After Remus shook Hermione's hand as well, she and Draco sat down on a metal bench near the changing rooms to put on their skates.

"Why do you think Remus is here?" Draco whispered as he tightened his laces. "He and Severus aren't exactly fond of each other."

"Well, he's helped us before," Hermione reasoned, reaching for her second skate. "I can only really think of one reason why he'd be here." She raised her eyebrows in a pointed way.

Draco sighed. He tugged on his second skate well. When Hermione looked up from adjusting all her laces, she was surprised to see a flush spreading across his cheeks.

"What's gotten into you?" She nudged his ribs with her elbow. "You look like a tomato."

"It's nothing." Draco cleared his throat. "It's just… last time Remus helped us with our skating, that's when we started… well, you know."

Hermione did know. Remus had told her to look at Draco like he was a filet mignon. He'd been the one to place the idea in her mind that their relationship needed more intimacy. And from that suggestion, she'd asked Draco to sleep with her.

Thus began a web of complex emotions Hermione was still untangling.

Still, she wondered why Remus was there. The two of them were no stranger to intimacy. Not after nearly seventeen years skating together, several of which were spent in each other's beds. Hermione liked to think they could pull off the act of seduction or attraction with relative ease.

It wasn't like it was hard. Especially when she had regular daydreams of dragging Draco to the nearest dark corner and having her way with him.

"Well, clearly Severus has his reasons for inviting Remus." Hermione stood on her covered blades. "We could definitely use the help. This year feels… _off_ and you know it."

She helped Draco to his feet and they made their way back to where the two older men were standing.

"Right." Remus clapped his hands together. "As I understand it, your Short Dance is near completion. What about your Free Dance?"

"Their Free Dance is nowhere near ready." Severus filled Remus in with his usual abrupt coolness. "The choice of Vivaldi feels overdone and is not medal-worthy. The storyline of the dance is also shaky at best. Even with the time constraints, a good part of me wants to scrap it entirely and start fresh."

Hermione's eyes grew wide at the admission and a glance to the side showed Draco mirroring her expression.

"Start… fresh?"

"Severus, it's _November._ " Draco stepped forward, eyes now narrowing. "That window of opportunity should have ended this summer."

"Nonsense." Severus waved him off. "It would have been summer if you were competing in a full season. This year, you're only in the Olympics. We've got time."

Hermione could see the suspicion in her partner's eyes. She reached forward and patted his back in what she hoped was a reassuring way.

"Let's keep our ears to the ground," she suggested after a moment. "In the past, we've known when the song choice and routine were a good match for us. It felt right. Maybe we'll get inspired soon?"

Draco ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I guess. Yeah. Ears to the ground."

"To me, it sounds like—" Remus spoke up, cutting off the hopeless pit the tone of the conversation had started to take. "—you've been putting a lot of pressure on yourselves for this performance."

He paused, eyebrows raised in expectation as he looked between the two ice dancers.

When Draco pursed his lips, Hermione answered. She surprised herself when a forced laugh came out with her words. "Well of course we have." She shifted her weight back and forth between her feet, trying to keep her muscles loose. When Remus didn't respond immediately, her discomfort set in, and with it, the full weight of everything that was riding on this one performance. The words started flowing from her, and they didn't stop.

"Not only is it another Olympic year, but because of my injury, we only have one real shot to compete this year. And on top of that, this is probably our final season."

As she spoke realisation washed over her. She'd had vague thoughts about the meaning behind this—their last season, but she'd never put them into words. Not until now.

It all seemed so… _real_.

The sinking feeling in her stomach now doubled when she thought about the state of disarray their Free Dance was in.

Across from her, Remus nodded along, his mouth set in a grim expression. "Just as I thought. Well, Severus invited me here today to work with the two of you to see if we can't let the two of you _breathe_ again."

At the mention of his name, their coach stepped forward. "Through no fault of your own, the two of you have been stiff for months. Part of it is your injury, Hermione, but part of it is simply because the two of you have skated together for so long."

Beside her, she noticed Draco's head tilt slightly. "I would think that would play to our advantage," he questioned, crossing his arms. "After nearly seventeen years skating together, Hermione's my best friend. There's no one I'd rather skate with."

"That's not what's being called into question, Draco." Remus reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. "There's no doubt that you and Hermione are incredibly close. But the longevity of a relationship between people doesn't always translate to chemistry in a performance. Sometimes, that chemistry can become stale, even _lost_ over time.

"And that's why I'm here," Remus went on. "To help you two relax and really work on your intimacy out on the ice. Because, by the sounds of it, you two could use some support."

Hermione wasn't sure why, but the offer made her feel like crying.

"Oh-kay." Remus clapped his hands again. "Let's see what you've got so far for your Short Dance." He motioned for them to get out to the ice and they obeyed, removing their blade covers and stepping onto the rink.

Hermione took her place beside Draco, her hand placed lithely on his shoulder. Severus swept over to the sound booth and counted them off.

She'd had the choreography memorised for months. Although she hadn't regained full trust in her muscles, her muscle memory hadn't failed her once. This year was no exception. The moment the sound of strings filled the arena, she began to skate in circles around Draco, hitting her pose when the brass instruments blasted a single note.

This dance started off slow, introducing Hermione as a temptress who had the unfortunate habit of leading Draco on, whether he wanted it or not. Thus began his two-minute and forty-second pursuit of her around the ice.

By the time they danced the final steps to the routine, they were supposed to feel a sense of accomplishment, but all Hermione knew was that something still wasn't quite right. The dance, itself, felt fine. But it just felt… flat.

"Well—" Remus smiled between pursed lips. "—that was decent. I can see how hard you've been practising. Your form is very precise."

"Thank you," Draco breathed between sips of water as he leaned on the barrier. "It's taken a while to be able to get it to this point."

"That may be true, Draco. But precision isn't enough for an Olympic-level performance. You can do better. Most people remember the Free Dance, but when you skate at Pyeongchang, I want people to talk about your Short Dance as well." He glanced down at a clipboard in his hands. "There's a lot of potential there. So much potential. And what I see right now is a lack of connection."

Hermione frowned. "Lack of connection? I'm not quite sure I understand."

This seemed to be the exact words Remus wanted to hear, because he responded with a soft smile. "I want you two to think of the best moments you've had together. The moments that have meant the most—the moments when you were performing your best and _really_ touched people. Because you have."

Flashes from the past flew past her eyelids: The dance competition they'd snuck off to as teens; the gala performances that had made audiences laugh; their performances of _All That Jazz_ that had won them many accolades and ignited a flame in their relationship that nearly made her combust.

And then there had been last year. Nearly every time Hermione stepped onto the ice to perform their _God Only Knows_ routine, it was as though the whole world held its breath. She and Draco existed in their own universe when they performed that song. There was no acting—just real, raw honesty and pain and love and _that's_ what audiences took away from it. Their connection had been palpable.

And while this performance was good like Remus said, he was absolutely right about what it lacked.

Connection. Chemistry.

Their partnership had been so focused on healing and subsequently, not re-injuring, that the artistic elements of their performance had fallen to the wayside.

Gratitude filled Hermione's body as she glanced over at Severus, who still stood by the sound booth, arms folded as he watched them. It had been his idea to bring in Remus, so he must have connected the dots as well. Their coach always was so observant, and even if he didn't show much affection or shower them in praise, he did what was necessary to help them to succeed.

"I know what you mean," she finally managed after a minute of silent contemplation. "Our performances are at their best when our chemistry is there. And right now, it feels like it's missing."

Remus smiled and shook his head. "Not missing. Just… buried, I think. And I'm here to help you find it."

After they had removed their skates, he led the two of them to the dance studio and warm-up room behind the rink. Although Severus had declined to watch last time, he followed this go-round, taking a seat in a metal folding chair in the corner.

Draco and Hermione stood in the middle of the room on a tumbling mat. They'd left their skates and shoes behind, and wore only socks on their feet. It felt strange and especially vulnerable, but not in an entirely bad way. She and Draco had hung out in socks many times, but it had always been away from the ice and dance rehearsals. They'd foregone shoes when they were alone together, perhaps cuddled on the couch to watch a film or when they padded around their once-shared flat early in the morning.

It was surprisingly intimate to have witnesses to them in this state of… could she call it 'undress'?

Draco's brow crinkled a little when he took his place across from her, as if to ask if she was okay.

She tried to answer with the tiniest movement of her head.

If confusion or worry showed on her face, Remus didn't seem to notice. "All right, you two. Let's start with the eyes. Last time I worked with you, we did this exercise." He smirked at Hermione. "And _you_ had particular trouble with it. Couldn't stop giggling."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I was eighteen. I hadn't experienced—" She cleared her throat. "—romance."

"Well, I don't want to make any assumptions, so I'll ask. Have you experienced romance now, Hermione?"

She gave a small nod while trying to avoid blushing or looking at Draco. "I have."

"That's good. Should make my job easier. Go ahead, then, both of you. Look at each other like you want the other person. Like you would do anything, just to have a bite."

"Like I'm filet mignon?" Draco's lips quirked upward in an amused smirk as his eyes found Hermione's.

She immediately lost her fight to not blush.

Tilting her head down slightly, she looked up at Draco through her eyelashes and offered him a shy smile.

"Good, good." Remus stood a metre back from the mat and gave directions. "Hermione, in this dance, _you_ are the flirtatious one. Draco is chasing you. You need to tease him. Lead him to you."

Hermione was objectively bad at flirting. She knew this to be a fact. During the brief time that she'd tried to date other men, she'd never felt comfortable with batting her eyelashes or trying to be subtly seductive. And with Draco… she never felt like she'd had to properly flirt with him. Seduce him. It just… happened. Naturally. No special tricks or 'come hither' stares.

So to be trying to throw flirtatious glances at Draco now just felt strange. She didn't feel like giggling, no…

Her insides were flipping instead.

The way that Draco was looking at her… every inch of him looked _hungry_. Like _she_ was the filet mignon.

Her insides weren't flipping. No, they were _burning_.

She wanted to make Draco burn, too. To make him feel just as breathless, just as out-of-control as she did in this moment.

It wasn't until Remus coughed that Hermione remembered that they were definitely not alone. She gulped for the air that had been missing from her lungs and tried to blink away her lust. Glancing beside her, she found that while Draco's gaze had lost some of its intensity, the _hunger_ was still there.

Hermione licked her lips and tried to focus on their guest.

"Much better," Remus said with a grin on his face. "You've come a long way in the last decade."

"I should certainly hope so," Severus spoke up from the corner, where he still sat, stiff-backed in the chair.

"When I watched your Short Dance, I noticed that your touches, while accurate and safe, were merely perfunctory. If you wanted me to feel a spark from your touch, alone, I did not."

Touch? Was that what they were going to work on next? The flipping sensation returned.

" _That_ should be your goal," Remus continued. "From the moment the clock starts until you hit your final pose, every touch—every brush of a hand—should have an electricity to it. Each and every person watching you dance should know in their bones that the two of you were always meant to skate together.

"Touch can go stale, sometimes. As I said earlier, the two of you have been skating partners for nearly two decades. Sometimes, the body needs a reminder of what it means to touch. _How_ to touch. Draco?"

Draco's head snapped up, and Hermione could have sworn there was the faintest hint of a blush splashed across his cheeks. "Yes, sir?"

"I want you to touch Hermione. Start with her face, and move your hand down her arm. Go on."

With a brief nod, Draco stepped a bit closer and reached up. He placed his palm against her cheek and began to brush down her neck and shoulder. His hand had just passed her elbow, when—

"No. No no no."

Draco withdrew his hand quickly, as if burned.

"She is a _woman_." Remus spoke as if it wasn't obvious. "Touch her as if she is precious to you. Not as if you are spreading jam on toast." He paused and turned. "And Hermione."

It was Hermione's turn to snap her attention to Remus.

"You need to _feel_ the energy Draco is sending and direct him when he touches you. Touch is not something felt by one person alone. It needs to be felt by both of you. Each touch… it tells a story. Try again."

They both nodded at Remus and stepped back toward each other. This time, the hunger in Draco's eyes was paired with another feeling. He looked earnest. Full of longing.

With a quick lift of his eyebrows, he seemed to ask, " _May I?"_

She smiled in response, and Draco lifted a hand toward her face.

_Why was she shaking?_

From the moment Draco's fingertips caressed her cheeks, Hermione knew this touch was different. There was something incredibly tender about the way he brushed her few stray hairs behind her ears before gently cupping her cheek with his palm.

Hermione's shaking immediately stopped and she leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed.

This was right. This was _home_.

She breathed a lungful of air slowly, purposefully, through her nose. Although Hermione couldn't feel his heartbeat, she knew that his heart was pounding against his ribcage to the same heavy staccato mirrored in her own chest.

It was the most they'd touched since they'd decided to stop sleeping together nearly four years ago. Sure, they'd performed lifts and done fairly physical warm-ups together, but there was something different about this.

Draco's eyes followed his hand as it trailed down her face, over her jawbone, and down the slender column of her neck. She shivered when his fingers traced her pulsepoint. He paused only briefly there, pressing gently.

She tilted her head, giving him better access to the side of her body and he responded by trailing his hand farther, to her shoulder and down to the dip in her waist.

How many times had he touched her there to lift her? These were the hands that had supported her—quite literally—for years. They'd held her, given her pleasure, and cared for her in her darkest hours.

She loved these hands. Loved _him._

Hermione knew, then, what was so different about this touch. It was intimate. So deeply, _desperately_ intimate. Touching, not for pleasure or for purpose, but to connect. To _feel_.

In her mind's eye, they weren't in the dance room anymore. They weren't even at the rink. Hermione wasn't sure where they were, but it was somewhere safe. Somewhere warm. Somewhere where time didn't matter and the Olympics didn't matter either.

Somewhere they could simply… be in love. Could touch each other with ease.

When his hand reached her hip, her breathing hitched.

Draco must have heard, because his grip on her suddenly tightened. No longer was his touch ghosting over her silhouette, but rather, his hold on her was very real and solid.

Draco was standing so close that Hermione could feel puffs of his hot breath against her skin. She could smell the distinct scent of his cologne: sandalwood and bergamot. She'd picked it out, herself, several years ago.

Combining those sensations with the pressure of Draco's fingers on her hips, Hermione pulse sped up even further. She rubbed her thighs together, trying to chase friction she would not find.

Remus had directed him to touch her like a woman, and Draco was certainly following through.

Had this been a private moment, she wondered if Draco would have closed the diminishing gap between them. Would they finally crack and break the rules they had set for themselves? Hermione wasn't sure she would have had the self-control.

But this moment was not private.

Remus and Severus were watching them reforge this connection. In an instant, Hermione remembered herself. Reality flooded her senses as fast as her face reddened.

When Draco drew back, she was left with a cool sense of loss.

His breath, his scent, his fingers… it had only been a few moments and yet she already craved them desperately.

"Very good." Remus's voice cut through the haze of desire coursing through her consciousness. "That was… excellent. I could really sense the connection between you two."

Hermione's eyes tore away from Draco's to find both their guest and coach looked a little pink around the edges.

Embarrassment bubbled up inside of her, and before she could stop herself, she blurted, "I'm so sorry, Remus. Severus." She grimaced, burying her face in her hands. "That was—"

"Exactly what you needed," Severus interrupted, standing from the folding chair. "As… personally uncomfortable as it was to witness such—" he coughed, "— _intimacy_ , this is what your dance has been missing. You two have unmatched chemistry, and if we can get that to translate to the dance, then I am fully convinced you've got a strong shot at a placement on the podium."

Remus had them run through the touching exercise a few times more. Each time Draco touched her body, he was very careful with his hands, making sure to keep them away from her more _sensitive_ areas. Yet, that did not stop him from brushing the edge of her breast with the heel of his hand.

In that moment, Hermione was immensely grateful that she was wearing a zip-up over her tank top. If not, she was certain that everyone in the room would have seen how Draco's touch was affecting her.

Remus also occasionally directed Hermione to be the one to touch Draco. This was, somehow, even more intense of an experience because Draco's eyes never left hers as she trailed a nimble hand slowly across his chest. He looked like a man possessed when her fingers dragged down his neck. By the seventh go-round, Hermione was quite convinced that this had to be a form of torture and that their coaches were serious voyeurs.

When they were finally cleared to return to the ice, Hermione felt relief coursing through her veins as she breathed in the crisp air in the arena once again. The dance room had started to feel stifling.

This time, when Severus told them to take their places in the center of the rink, Hermione felt her whole body vibrate with potential energy.

Every touch needed to tell a story. It needed to show just how much of a strong connection they had.

As Hermione circled Draco to the whining of violins, she knew there was only one story to tell: _their_ story.

As Draco pursued her across the ice, it was their story.

As he pulled her to his chest to begin their swing dance sequence, it was their story.

As she held herself taut while Draco passed her body around his back, it was their story, too.

Each time Hermione felt his hands on her back, at her side, or anywhere on her body, it was as though a bolt of lightning rippled across her skin. And although she was focused on the routine, she could still smell that cologne, still feel his heavy breath against her skin.

When Frank Sinatra carried his final note to its conclusion, both Hermione's and Draco's skin shone with sweat and their breath came in short, sharp pants. They stayed frozen in their final pose for several seconds past necessity, hungry eyes never leaving each other.

Draco was close. So close. If she just pushed herself up one or two inches, they could finally chase the pleasure they'd been dancing around for… how long had it been? Hermione didn't have the patience to calculate if it had been minutes of years.

But before they could do something stupid, Remus called out to them.

"Much, much better! Wow! I could really feel the energy this time."

Severus seemed pleased as well, granting them a rare smile.

As Draco righted her on her feet, it occurred to Hermione that for the first time in seven months, she hadn't been thinking about her calf. Not once.

While they basked in their first success, Hermione noticed with a fluttering stomach that Draco hadn't let go of her hand.

~*~*~*~

"I have a surprise for you," Draco said two hours later as he slipped on his trainers on a bench near the changing rooms. "I think you're going to like it."

"Does it involve a nap? Or maybe a nice, long soak in a tub?" Even though she'd already stretched out thoroughly, her calf muscles ached from heavy use. She had plans to ice them as soon as she got home.

Draco chuckled.

"Oh, you think I'm kidding?" Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder. "Because I'm not. That is exactly what I want right now."

"Well lucky for you, my surprise is happening later this evening. So you've got a few hours to relax before I'll come knocking on your front door."

He must have wanted to take her on a not-date tonight. Hermione narrowed her eyes at her partner. "Are we going somewhere?"

He shrugged, a smile creeping up the corners of his lips. "You could say that. I have… a special opportunity for us."

"Special—?" She raised her eyebrows as comprehension flooded her. "You know, after knowing you for this long, I should just stop being surprised by the opportunities you come across."

Draco shrugged, a faux look of humility crossing his face. "What can I say? I know people."

Hermione snorted. "Right. Stop being a prat and tell me what I'm supposed to wear for this… _special opportunity_."

They'd been staring into each other's eyes for hours on end, yet somehow, the way that Draco's reverent gaze swept over her in appraisal made heat spread all across her body. She knew her cheeks were likely stained a deep red.

"How about your black dress? The one you wore to the Athlete Honors dinner last month."

Thinking back on that particular evening, Draco hadn't been able to take his eyes off her all night. The dress he was talking about was simple, with long sleeves. Its greatest virtue, though, was in its length. The dress stopped mid-thigh, giving her arse a perfect shape. Even _she_ had stopped to admire it in her bathroom mirror.

"Black dress? I can do that."

"Pick you up at five, then? Our… event is at seven and I'd like to grab dinner first."

They said their final goodbyes to Severus and Remus and headed for the double doors. Draco held one side open for Hermione and they both exited into bright midday light. The drive home was relatively quiet, if only because they were both exhausted and in need of a shower and a kip. By the time Draco pulled up to Hermione's flat, her eyes were more than a little droopy. Still, she managed to unbuckle herself and open the door.

As soon as she was out of the car, she turned around and leaned forward to confirm details.

"Pick up at five. Wear my black dress. Anything else?"

Draco shook his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. "That's all you get to know for now."

If she had any more energy, Hermione might have fought him for more information, but for now, her bed was calling.

Six hours passed in the blink of an eye. One moment, Hermione had been collapsing face-first into her pillow. The next, she was leaning into her mirror, mouth gaping as she put on mascara.

As promised, Draco showed up on her doorstep at five o'clock on the dot. He was wearing a suit and carrying a bouquet of blue and white flowers.

Her heart beat a heavy thump as she put those flowers—morning glory and lily-of-the-valley, according to Draco—in a vase. His eyes never left her as she bustled around, cutting the stems off and putting the vase under the tap.

"You look stunning," he murmured with a kiss on the cheek when she finally set the flowers on her kitchen table. "I love this dress on you."

"I could say the same about your suit," she responded, grabbing the dark, sequined clutch she planned to use for the evening. "It's not often I get to see you in trousers that aren't the stretchy kind."

Draco snorted as they headed toward his car. "I thought you liked my stretchy trousers?"

"Well, I don't mind them, seeing as they allow you to do your job, but—"

"But you don't love them?" Draco started the engine and offered a fake pout. "What about the velvet ones?"

" _Especially_ not the velvet ones."

The drive to wherever they were going wasn't particularly long. They stopped to grab a quick bite at an Italian restaurant near the mystery venue. They talked and joked over wine and pasta. Hermione felt a natural warmth fill her cheeks as she imbibed a glass and a half. Draco spent the entire meal with his arm stretched across the table, his thumb stroking the back of her hand.

For a not-date, it felt very intimate. Far more intimate than any of their other not-dates had been. Perhaps it had something to do with that day's training, and perhaps it had something to do with the wine, but Hermione found that she didn't really mind toeing the line in the sand they'd drawn.

By the time they split the check and made their way out to the street, Hermione was practically chomping at the bit to get Draco to admit where they were going. She'd already struck out on several guesses, including a jazz club, art gallery, and laser tagging.

The last one had been a joke. Mostly.

It wasn't until they stood in front of a small, unassuming building bookended between a hair salon and a hamburger restaurant that Hermione began to get suspicious.

"After nearly seventeen years together, and now's the time when you finally decide to murder me? Bit of an odd choice, isn't it?"

Draco chuckled. "There is to be no murdering here tonight. I promise."

"Ah, but you say nothing about tomorrow morning."

"Just… come on, Hermione." With a teasing smile, Draco led her up the concrete steps and opened the glass door, which had been covered by blinds.

She had expected to see some sort of strange performance space or something else off-beat. What she didn't expect was a well-lit, warm-looking lobby with a cheerful teenager standing behind a snack counter.

"Hello," the girl greeted with a smile. "Mr. Malfoy?"

"That'd be me."

"Feel free to pick out anything here. I'll start the film when you're settled in your seats."

Hermione blinked. "Film? What film?"

"Well, I just so happen to know that you've fancied Zac Efron ever since that unfortunate musical came out back when we were staying at the dormitory. You wouldn't stop singing those infernal songs for months."

" _High School Musical_ was a phenomenon and you know it." Hermione folded her arms and then froze. "Wait. Are we watching what I think we're watching?"

She'd seen the trailer for the new film coming out this Christmas and hadn't expected to see it until after the Olympics. Watching newly-released films wasn't exactly on her priority list for the next few months.

"I got us an advance-screening of _The Greatest Showman_ , if that's what you're wondering."

Hermione wasn't normally one to get overly-excited about things, and she certainly wasn't the type of girl to squeal or shriek when she did get excited. This was the exception. Jumping up and down, Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth.

The two of them picked out snacks—popcorn and a pick and mix to split, before choosing reclining seats in the centre of the otherwise empty cinema.

The employee must have watched them take their seats, because within a minute, the lights had dimmed and the screen lit up with the beginning of a trailer.

"How on earth did you manage to get an advance screening of this?" Hermione whispered between handfuls of popcorn. "This is supposed to be one of the biggest films of the season."

Draco shot her a self-congratulatory smile before popping a fizzy strawberry from the pick and mix in his mouth. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

After a handful of trailers, the film started, and Hermione nestled deeper into her seat. Beside her, Draco set the bag of pick and mix aside and extended his hand across the armrest. His palm faced upward in an invitation and Hermione gladly took it, lacing their fingers together as the circus performers began to sing.

The movie was fun and imaginative, and Hermione was certain within the first ten minutes that she wanted to download the soundtrack as soon as she got home. The love story between P.T. Barnum and his wife was incredibly sweet, and she found that she could relate to the devotion between the childhood sweethearts.

But what really caught her eye was—

"How much acrobatic training do you think they did for this movie?" she whispered when Zendaya and Zac Efron saw each other for the first time.

"I'm not sure, some of those moves look an awful lot like what we learned with Cirque du Soleil."

Draco's thumb brushed over the back of her hand as the movie continued to play, leaving goosebumps trailing up her arm. Her mouth was suddenly feeling a little dry.

Perhaps it was the popcorn.

"Do you think we could pull that off?" Hermione's breath caught in her throat when Draco's mouth brushed the shell of her ear.

Maybe it wasn't the popcorn, after all.

"Oh, definitely," she managed through a small cough. "We, uh... did a lift similar to that a few years ago."

"Hmm."

His thumb continued to trace patterns absently on the back of her hand to the point that Hermione had a little trouble concentrating on the film. They'd spent hours holding hands—years, even. She knew what those hands were capable of. How they knew every inch of her body.

Hermione had never been more grateful that cinemas were dark places, because she was absolutely sure that her face was, once again, flushed. Because apparently, there wasn't a limit to the amount that one could blush in a single day.

She tried to think of something— _anything_ that could distract her. The film was good, yes, but not fast-paced enough to keep her mind from wandering into dangerous territory. She needed something bigger that she could actually focus on.

The first thing she landed on was their still-elusive Free Dance. Vivaldi created beautiful music, but if they were going to feel the energy… the _magic_ that they felt on the ice today, they needed to pick something that would ignite the spark between them. Would highlight the connection that they had shared for years. And Vivaldi just wasn't going to cut it.

At this point in their career, they'd skated to so many songs, it often felt like there wasn't much left to choose from. At least, nothing that gave Hermione the feeling in her gut that this song was meant to be. She'd felt it last season with _God Only Knows_ , and while she knew that their song this year probably wouldn't be so personal, it still needed to have an impact.

Hermione frowned, reaching with her free hand for more popcorn as her anxiety spiked. She wanted a distraction from what Draco's thumb was doing to her, but this wasn't what she had in mind.

The film it was, then.

Hermione's heart stirred when the cast sang an anthem of sorts. It was a compelling part of the plot, the inclusion of so many people who were different. And perhaps that was the part of the film that spoke to many.

But to her, the further into the story they got, the more she was attracted to the subplot about the aristocrat's son and the acrobat. From the moment they caught each other's eyes, there had been a spark—a moment of that elusive magic they were always chasing in their performances. The plot was nothing more than fun and romantic until a scene when the two tried to attend the theatre together.

They were seen by Zac's on-screen father. The man clearly disapproved of everything Zendaya's character stood for and made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that associating with her was shameful.

It hit a little too close for comfort.

Zendaya's character ran away in that moment; she did what Hermione had thought about doing many times when faced with the intimidating presence of Lucius Malfoy. But so often, she had just stood and taken the insults, much as Draco had.

It was then she realised that Draco had stopped stroking the back of her hand. She could hardly even hear him breathing. His whole body had actually gone stiff, and when she glanced beside her, she watched his throat bob while his eyes were trained on the screen.

Although she couldn't be certain, she had a sneaking suspicion that he, too, was thinking of the years they'd spent under his father's thumb. The pain he'd put them through.

And then, months ago, the way they'd finally confronted that toxic man and removed him from their lives.

In the film, Philip told his father off and chased after Ann.

In real life, it had taken _years_ for both she and Draco to stand up to Lucius. It took _years_ to begin to undo the damage he'd done to both of them. Even now, they were still damaged. Still overly-cautious. They tiptoed around each other, careful not to cross lines, when they should have been able to dive into each other's arms without reservations.

All of the would-have-beens flashed through her mind as a new song began.

From the first line of that song, Hermione's focus snapped to the screen. She wasn't sure what it was—the melody, the rhythm, the lyrics, the acting—but something about it made her heart stutter to life. A wave of goosepimples erupted across every inch of her skin.

Adjusting her posture in the seat, she leaned forward and drew her breath in slowly, taking in the moment. Zac Efrom and Zendaya were practically dancing around each other on stage, and everything about them was electric.

But it wasn't until the second verse started that Hermione got that feeling.

The feeling she got when she _knew_.

_Magic._

She squeezed Draco's hand. Her own hand was practically vibrating. When she turned her head, she found him staring at the screen, too, mouth agape and eyes filled with wonder.

He squeezed back.

For the rest of the film, Hermione could hardly sit still in her seat. All she could think of was calling up Lee the very first second she could and getting in a dance studio to get started. Because this was it. The song they'd been waiting for.

And somehow, miraculously, it had fallen in their laps.

They held onto each other's hands for the rest of the movie, their grip so tight that sometimes she began to lose the feeling in her fingers.

The last thirty minutes of the film were excellent, but all Hermione could think of was getting up and talking with Draco. They could have, of course. They were the only ones there. But somehow, Hermione knew this was a conversation they needed to have without distractions or potentially being overheard by a teenage employee.

By the end, Hermione was itching to leave. She jumped to her feet the moment the lights faded on, throwing her coat on over her black dress. Draco also bundled up in a hurry, and the two of them thanked the teenager with a generous tip before spilling into the crisp night with breathless smiles on their faces.

Part of Hermione wanted to blurt, right then and there, the idea that was bursting at the seams of their minds. She was practically vibrating with excitement to say something all the way across the car park.

As they climbed into the car, Hermione opened her mouth to finally put a voice to her wonderful idea. But before she could say anything, Draco placed his hand on hers again. The touch gave her pause.

"Wait until we're home. We don't want someone to accidentally overhear us."

His voice was low, in the same baritone timbre he used to save for their most intimate moments. It sent a shiver up her spine in the most delicious and forbidden ways.

Even though Hermione wanted nothing more than to gush about their newfound discovery right then and there, she held it in.

"Okay," she whispered, settling into the warmth of her seat. "Home."

Draco didn't specify whose home they were going to, but Hermione didn't have to ask. They had only ever had one home, the two of them. Apart from the dormitories, of course, but she severely doubted they were going there.

As they drove, Draco's hand reached over and rested on, not her hand, but her thigh. At first, Hermione thought it must have been a mistake. But when he did not flinch or draw away, but instead, begin to trace his fingers from her knee to the hem of her dress, she was left with no doubts about Draco's intentions. Or, at the very least, his affections.

His touch didn't detract from her mounting excitement about the song. She practically counted the minutes in her head until they would be standing on the front step.

They'd go in together and come up with a plan. They'd talk some more and then…

Draco's fingers brushed just under the edge of her dress.

Hermione's heart thudded in her chest.

Draco parked shortly after and led them both up to the front door. Although she couldn't be entirely certain, she thought she could hear Draco's heart thudding, too.

The moment the door was closed behind them, he pulled her body flush with his in the entryway. His hands were at her waist and their faces were only inches apart. The blush she'd tried to think away at the cinema came back in full-force.

Draco's face was as red as Hermione imagined hers to be, his eyes shining and his grin extending from ear to ear.

"Hermione," he breathed, his hands pressing into her side.

"Yes?"

She looked up at him, and was certain that he could hear her heartbeat. It was so loud.

Why was it beating so loudly?

"This is it. Our final song. We found it."

"We found it," she repeated, her grin widening.

They could have jumped into plans at that moment, but it suddenly occurred to Hermione that they could easily talk about it tomorrow. There would be time to talk. Plenty of it.

And right now, she wasn't sure she wanted to talk.

What she _did_ want was for Draco to pull her closer, to touch her in all the ways that today's rehearsal had promised and teased.

Because now, they had no audience. There was no Remus or Severus there to watch and comment. No one but themselves to witness their real, true intimacy.

It was just them.

It had always been just them.

She wanted to close the space between them and press her lips to his, wanted to satisfy the hunger that had been gnawing away at her all day.

She wanted Draco. Wanted him so badly that she felt as though she was burning from the inside out. And when her eyes found his, she saw that he, too, was filled with the flames of desire that would only be stoked if she kissed him.

Draco's hands trailed up and down her body, his fingers digging into her sides. In her mind's eye, Hermione could imagine the way those fingers would cover every inch of her body as he guided her to the nearest surface. A wall, perhaps. Or the couch. Then, he'd press his full body into her and she'd finally feel the sweet pressure that her body had sorely missed.

Against her thigh, she felt the stirrings of Draco's arousal.

How long had it been since they'd done this?

Nearly four years, a voice inside her head answered.

" _Draco."_ Her voice came out as a moan when she said his name. "Draco, I—"

"I know," he murmured, leaning even closer.

Draco's mouth danced before hers, lips parted, breathing heavily—panting, almost. His eyes dropped to her own mouth, and she knew then, that he was at war with himself.

If he kissed her now, their promise to themselves would be broken. They wouldn't be able to hold back. Hermione knew it, and even without asking, she had a feeling that Draco knew it, too.

That would be it. Just another inch and they'd crash into each other again.

Or…

They could wait. They could restrain themselves. It was only three more months.

Three more months and then that mouth would be hers. Finally.

Draco's hips canted once against hers before he pulled back with a shudder. " _Fuck,"_ he muttered as he tried to untangle himself. His mouth was still dangerously close to hers, and their breath mingled. "I want to, Hermione. I want to _so_ much. You have no idea."

"I do, actually." Hermione chuckled and reached up to run a hand through his hair. "I want to as well."

"But we shouldn't."

"No, not yet. It'd be too much of a distraction and..." Her voice trailed off as Draco closed his eyes to the feeling of her hands in his hair. She coughed. "And we have to focus right now."

"Not yet," he agreed, opening his eyes and removing her hands. "Focus." With one final glance down at her, Draco finally pulled back, separating their bodies.

They were still in the entryway.

"Do you… want to come in?" he asked after a minute of trying to take stabilising breaths. "We could… watch something? Have a drink?"

Hermione shook her head. "I… don't think that's a good idea. Not that I don't want to," she asserted.

"No. Right. Of course."

"It just…" The blush returned in full once again, but by now, Hermione was through finding it embarrassing or trying to make it vanish. "If we sit on the couch together in the state we're in right now…"

She cleared her throat and straightened her dress. It had bunched up slightly in the places where Draco had grabbed her.

Draco scrubbed his face with his hands and breathed out a lungful of air. "So… can I drive you home, then?"

The corners of her lips twitched upward. "Yeah. I'd like that. Thanks."

"Maybe on the way we could talk about our dance."

"Sure, yes."

"I won't try to kiss you again."

"I won't try either."

Draco nodded. "Okay, then. Let's get you home."

As Hermione leaned against the passenger wide window of his Audi, she knew that the vibrator sitting in her bedside table wouldn't be enough tonight. She was craving Draco more and more these days, to the point of near-combustion.

But she could wait. She _wanted_ to wait. There was so much to look forward to in the next few months. So much work ahead of them, especially now that they finally had a song selection for their Free Dance—one that made her practically shake with anticipation. She didn't want thoughts of what awaited her after the fact to blind her to the rush of preparing for the Olympics.

Because now, for the very first time, it really hit her.

They were going to the 2018 Winter Olympics.

Before, there had always been a knot of dread that accompanied thoughts of competing in the Olympics. Perhaps it was due to her injury, or perhaps it was because she had never felt so ill-prepared in her life.

Perhaps it was a bit of both.

But now, things were falling into place. Her calf was getting stronger each day. They finally had a song for their Free Dance. And her relationship with Draco… it had never been better. Healthier.

Hermione allowed herself to feel a true thrill course across her body, setting it alight.

This was going to be their year. She just knew it. And what a good feeling it was, especially for this year. Their final year—the last season they'd ever compete.

She wanted to savour every second. Soak up every single moment.

Hermione reached her hand across the center console of the car, placing it palm up just beside Draco's knee. He glanced down for a moment before taking it with a soft smile.

She was going to try and enjoy every single thing about the next few months. Even the tough parts. Because when it was all said and done come the end of February, she wanted to know that when she and Draco stepped off the ice for the last time, they'd be going out together, with nothing but good memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small handful of you have been asking and wondering and postulating and even suggesting that Rewrite The Stars would be the perfect anthem. 
> 
> Well guess what? 
> 
> I've had this song picked out for this moment for 2 years. So to those of you who took a shot in the dark, good job! 
> 
> As to the other song, Luck Be A Lady, I've actually edited it myself to fit into the 2:40 time frame required by the ISU for the Short Dance. 
> 
> To take a listen, click here: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1SoVXAvc7qVIuYV7cMY-4ZKX_abHk8LU4/view?usp=sharing
> 
> Things are really heating up for Draco and Hermione. I wanted the tension to be off the charts in this charts. Did I succeed? 
> 
> Anyway, I hope this chapter adds a bit of joy to your day.
> 
> Take care, everyone! xoxo Biscuits


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the 2018 Winter Olympics in PyeongChang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it, guys. Oh my god. I've been dreaming in this chapter for nearly 3 years. And now it's going to go into your eyeballs and brains. 
> 
> I'm nervous. Can you tell? 
> 
> I hope it's everything you dreamed it would be. 
> 
> All my love to Graceful Lioness.

**February 19-20, 2018  
**

**The PyeongChang Winter Olympics**

Under any other circumstances, Draco would have been perfectly relaxed and content in his current state. He and Hermione both sat, legs stretched out across the bright blue bedspread standard to all athletes competing in the Pyeongchang Olympics. Surrounding them were the crumpled wrappers of a half-dozen snacks they'd found at the local convenience store and dared themselves to try.

It should have been fun. He and Hermione should have laughed together when they discovered that the fish-shaped crackers tasted like squid and fought over the chocolate-covered cheese puffs that were somehow delicious.

Instead, they'd taken a few bites each and let the leftovers sit untouched near the foot of the bed. Judging by the pallid colouring on Hermione's face, the snacks hadn't done any favours at helping her stave off her usual pre-performance nausea.

"That was a mistake," Draco grumbled as he adjusted himself on the bed to lie down. "Shouldn't have gotten so many."

Hermione hummed in response and lowered her body to lie beside him.

"You doing okay?" he prodded, turning his head so he could see her profile. Her lips were turned downward, and her eyes looked a bit glazed over. "Need to sleep? You didn't take a nap today, so I thought maybe you'd adjusted to the time zone."

Hermione shook her head. "That's not it."

That made sense. They'd already been in Korea for over ten days and their internal clocks had finally adjusted four days in.

But something was clearly off, and he wasn't sure if it was just her nerves or something more. Draco watched the rise and fall of her chest, and though his own nerves were already off the charts, the knot of anxiety in his stomach tightened further still.

He rolled so he was lying on his side, facing her. "Okay." Reaching out, he rubbed her arm in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "What's going on, then? Because there's definitely something."

Hermione sighed and rolled onto her side as well. Her eyes pierced his, and he could feel a sense of worry pouring off of her in waves. "I just can't shake the feeling that something's going to go wrong. Like four years ago."

Draco pursed his lips. "I had a feeling that was it."

"I just—" Hermione looked just past him as she spoke, above his ear and toward the blank expanse of wall by the window. "—it feels like a lot more pressure than last time. We were expected to do well last time, sure, but there's all this talk about us making a great comeback. And when that journalist asked us yesterday about our lack of momentum going into the Olympics, it just kind of… I don't know. It got to me. The pressure. And being the flag bearer in the Parade of Nations was such a huge honour, but it only made that pressure worse, I think."

Carrying the Union Jack in front of the world had definitely been a huge honour. Hermione was certainly right about that. His heart had swelled with pride and disbelief when the leadership at Team Great Britain asked them of all people. _Them!_

But still, it was easy to see how that honour added to Hermione's nerves.

Draco kept moving his hand up and down her left arm as he searched internally for the right way to respond to his partner's anxiety. The journalist in question had been a part of a larger pre-competition interview they'd done. And while many questions centered around training and this year's routines, a great deal more focused on their great blunder four years ago, Hermione's injury, and subsequent abstention from most of this year's regular season.

"All the other teams have been performing for months," one journalist had explained when called on. "They are carrying momentum from the season into the Olympics. But for you, this is your one shot. Your make-it-or-break-it moment. How do you feel about that?"

Draco wasn't sure what words came out of his mouth, but he'd managed to reply. Something about feeling prepared despite their bumps in the road. Hermione hadn't responded at all, and had been rather quiet for the rest of the interview.

Her melancholy made sense now.

From the moment they stepped into the arrivals lobby at the airport, they'd been inundated with flashing cameras and screaming fans. Some were fans Draco recognised from competitions in Japan. There were also countless new faces holding homemade signs, sobbing, shoving photos for him to autograph in his face.

It was… overwhelming to be sure.

So many people had their hopes set on the two of them doing well. If the questions journalists kept asking them were any indication, many people had been following their roller coaster of a journey since the Sochi Olympics and viewed them as underdogs of sorts.

That's not exactly how Draco had always pictured his professional image would be. When he was younger and dreamed of being an Olympic athlete, he'd imagined how all others would find him intimidating and the clear winner from the start, always destined for gold.

God, he'd been so haughty as a child. Hell, he'd been that haughty even a few years ago.

A few years ago, he'd have been embarrassed to be considered an _underdog_ of all things.

But given what he'd experienced since Sochi—the moments of reckoning that had shaken his very foundation—he was more than happy to be called an underdog if it meant he and Hermione would take to the ice tomorrow in front of the world.

Because tomorrow would begin their redemption.

In front of him now, Hermione still looked like the perfect picture of misery.

"I feel it too," he offered, hand still on her arm. "The pressure. But we're going to be okay. Even if we come in eighth place again—and I don't think we will—we'll be okay."

She sighed again, rolling onto her back. Draco's hand fell naturally to her stomach, and he left it there. Hermione didn't seem to mind.

"I know," she murmured. "It's still… a lot. It feels like every moment we've ever spent together has led us to this moment. That… ugh, that sounds too dramatic."

Hermione shook her head and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Draco sat up as well and joined her. Their pajama-clad legs touched.

"You're not being dramatic, Hermione," he chuckled. "That's exactly what this is. It's understandable that you're nervous. I'm nervous, too." When Hermione's frown didn't disappear and her brow didn't lift, Draco decided to switch tactics. "But, tell you what," he said, turning to face her and curling one leg under him. "Just to be sure, let's run through a checklist. I know you like those."

This cracked the first smile—the twitch of a lip.

"Right. First. You have all your gear? You didn't leave your skates back in England, did you?"

Hermione gave a soft chuckle. "No, Draco. I have them right in my closet."

"Good. Second. You're not feeling sick?"

"I'm not."

"Third. I'm here. That's half of what we need right there."

"Har har."

"Fourth. Your calf?" Draco raised his brow as Hermione flexed and pointed her foot.

"Good as gold. Viktor checked it this morning."

"Then see? You've got nothing to worry about. All that's left is to skate our best and see what happens."

Hermione shook her head. "What on earth happened to the pretentious little boy I started skating with seventeen years ago?"

"Oh, he's still in here," Draco assured her. "He's just gotten a little more mature."

"Ah, well." Hermione shrugged with a smile. "I did miss him calling me a tutu-wearing ninny."

Draco groaned. "Are you ever going to let that go? I was _eleven_ and hated that my parents sent me to ballet lessons without telling me why. I wasn't upset with you. I was just… tetchy."

"Nope. Sorry. I think I'm going to hold on to that forever."

Draco might have been annoyed had Hermione not been laughing. She was in dire need of a distraction, and if he needed to be the punchline to make that happen, then so be it.

"Did I ever tell you that I got curious about The Princess Diaries once you mentioned the film to me?" He watched as one of Hermione's eyebrows arched. "I basically forced Dobbs to find the DVD for me so I could watch it."

"Oh, Dobbs! How is he? You haven't mentioned him in ages."

Draco chuckled. "He wrote to me not too long ago, actually. Turns out, he quit after the last Olympics. He said something in his letter about not being able to stand the way my parents talked about us any more. So he left. And according to him, he's done his best to watch as many of our competitions as he can on the telly."

Tears formed at the corners of Hermione's eyes as she listened. She was actually crying over his childhood butler.

He truly didn't deserve this wonderful, empathetic woman.

"Anyway, I watched that movie and I finally understood something about you."

"And what was that?"

Hermione blinked and tilted her head, and somehow, the air around the both of them changed.

"That you were like Mia. The hair. The desire to be seen. The fact that you really were a princess."

Although she shook her head, Draco could see her cheeks redden slightly. The goal hadn't been to embarrass Hermione, but this seemed to be a safe avenue that would keep her away from her nerves.

"Now you're just being ridiculous, Draco." Hermione stood from the bed and walked toward his closet, where she needlessly started to straighten items on shelves. "I can see some of those things. The hair, obviously. I had self-esteem issues for sure. But I… never entertained any sort of fantasy that I was a princess."

Her voice had begun to vibrate, and Draco knew it was only a matter of time before her anxiety returned in full. He had to steer her back… back to him.

"You may not have," he interjected, standing and crossing the room toward her. "But I did."

This gave Hermione pause. She turned from the closet and stared. "You… what?"

"I thought you were a princess of sorts. I was entranced from the moment I saw you dance at the studio in that black leotard of yours. I saw you through a window on my first day, and would you believe it? It actually gave me butterflies."

Hermione's eyes were wide as saucers now.

"You're joking."

"I'm not. I swear. And besides, I haven't even gotten to the first time I saw you skate."

"The first time you saw me… Was that my audition?"

"It was."

Struck by a sudden bit of inspiration, Draco reached for his phone and did a bit of searching on his music app. When he found what he needed, he pressed play and set the phone down on his bedside table.

Soft piano filled the room as Draco stepped back toward his best friend of seventeen years. He had to remember to breathe as he took her hand and held her in the right frame for a waltz.

The way Hermione looked up at him nearly made him forget to breathe. Cheeks rosy. Lips barely parted. Brown eyes shining.

As the orchestra chimed in with the piano, he moved his feet. _Forward, step, step. Back, step, step._

"The very first time I saw you skate, it was to this song." He led Hermione around the sparse room in a simple waltz, his eyes never leaving hers. How had he never told her about this memory? "I remember being so completely enchanted with you that I didn't know what to do with myself. Compared to every other girl I saw skate, you looked like you were born to be on the ice. You looked so confident out there. So natural. Like you were floating."

"I might have looked confident, but I was actually nervous as hell," Hermione admitted as they continued dancing.

"Well, that's how you came across to me. Like… a real princess. That's what I thought at the time, actually."

It was his turn to flush.

Draco's ears burned but he wasn't deterred. He released his right hand from the small of Hermione's back and lifted his left to walk her through a spin. She followed his lead, whipping her head around so her eyes stayed latched onto his.

"I might have only been eleven years-old, but from the moment I saw you skate, I knew there was something special about you. Something perfect. Perfect for me." Draco swallowed. Perhaps he should have been the one with nerves, admitting all this. But this was Hermione. _His_ Hermione. And talking to her… looking at her… being with her—he was home.

There was only one thing left to say, then.

"It took me years to figure this out, probably because it all happened when I was a kid who didn't know what it all meant or how it was supposed to feel, but looking back, I think that moment—watching you skate for the first time—was when I fell in love with you."

He'd spoken of his feelings to her many times, so he didn't expect it at all when Hermione had such a strong reaction. Breaking the waltz frame, she fell into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling herself close to him.

She didn't say anything as they stood, hugging. She simply buried her face in his chest and held him close. Draco could feel her steady breathing and used that rhythm to calm the nervous beating of his own heart.

This was what they both needed the night before their Olympic performances began. To breathe and be there for each other. To connect.

If they did that, then these next two days would be nothing like their experience in Sochi. Or at least, that's what Draco hoped.

After a few good, long minutes passed, Draco tilted his wrist to see the time.

"Hermione," he murmured into the top of her head, "it's nearly nine o'clock. We should probably go to sleep. Big day tomorrow. Early start."

He felt her nod against his chest. She sniffed once. "Yes. Bed."

They probably could have gotten away with sleeping in the same bed. God knew, Draco could have used the comfort. But more than any promises they had made to each other, they had a routine—one that they'd been following for months. One that did not involve sleeping in the same bed. And given that the next two days were the biggest in their career, it was probably best that the routine didn't change.

"I'll just—" Hermione gestured to the door. "I'm down the hall."

Draco nodded. "I'll see you in the morning? Six o'clock?"

The two stared at each other for several ticks. So much was left unsaid. They both knew it. But there would be time to talk. Years, if they were lucky.

Just, after the next two days.

With a small wave and a wistful smile, Hermione disappeared into the corridor, leaving Draco alone with the soft sounds of the orchestra still playing the waltz echoing around his empty room.

Although he woke up sporadically during the night, Draco awoke feeling relatively well-rested. He followed his morning routine, rising before the sun, and met Hermione in the corridor at two minutes past six.

Their breakfast was quiet and perfunctory. After breakfast, they grabbed their skating gear and made their way over to the arena on a bus with other athletes. They chatted amicably with Fleur and Roger, who both looked like they wanted to vomit from nerves. Hermione also looked a bit green around the gills.

Viktor and Severus met them there and helped them get ready in one of the large backstage areas. Although Hermione was the one who typically received all the help from Viktor, he had them both run through a series of stretches to prevent injuries before double-checking the status of Hermione's calf.

"You're good to go," he reported after moving her leg in what appeared to be every possible angle. "Keep stretching until you're reading to go on. Stretch when you get off the ice, too. Keep it limber for tomorrow."

Severus had them run through the trickiest of their Short Dance lifts three times.

He then declared them ready.

Hermione promptly threw up.

For the Short Dance competition, performance order was random. But the higher their score was today, the later on the roster they would perform in tomorrow's Ice Dance Final. Out of the twenty-four pairs competing today, only twenty would advance.

Draco tapped his feet on the floor as he waited for their turn—eighteenth—while Hermione attempted to distract herself with a book. As far as he could tell, it only worked so much. By the time an hour passed, she started pacing.

He was grateful when their group number was called so they could stop their nervous tics and do their six-minute warm up on the ice. When they stepped into the open air of the arena, they were greeted by a roar of applause, and for the first time that day, Draco saw a smile light up Hermione's face. They ran through a few sequences of their Short Dance and skated around the perimeter of the rink a few times before the announcer politely asked everyone but the Turkish pair to remain on the ice.

The rest of their wait time was spent just backstage, jumping and breathing. Hermione did some last-minute stretches and just before their time, they breathed in sync and repeated their usual mantra.

Hearing their names called by the announcer in English, French, and Korean was strange and wonderful. Even more strange and wonderful was the way Hermione looked at him as they took their place on the ice. She'd already gotten into character—the flirty woman who had him wrapped around her little finger. Her eyes told him that she was ready to begin.

As they'd rehearsed so many times, Luck Be A Lady started with the whining of an orchestra, followed by the crooning voice of Frank Sinatra. Hermione skated around him, teasing him with her eyes as her fingertips grazed his shoulder… his cheek… his hand…

Draco played the part of man trying to convince this flirty woman to stay by his side, pursuing her and her bright red dress across the ice in his suspenders and high-waisted pants looking every part the desperate, love-struck man.

This particular dance kept Hermione pulled close to his chest through the swing dance, and as they made their way through the routine, he could feel how much Remus's presence had helped them. Every touch and look kept Draco on his toes, like this fictional woman actually would.

And so they skated through the routine totally ensconced in the world they'd created. Every movement was in sync, every twizzle precise. Even the lifts felt perfect as they executed them. The music moved from bold and brash to soft and lyrical and then back again, all in the span of two minutes and forty seconds.

Somehow, in that span of time, Draco got swept up in the pure fun of it all. Because that's how it felt. _Fun._ Like they were out on the ice as kids again, smiling through every routine. Like that's the whole reason they were out there: to have fun.

It was _magical._

By the time Frank started changing keys, signaling the start of their final sequence, Draco couldn't stop grinning and neither, it seemed, could Hermione. The more she smiled, the more it made him want to smile right back. There were two more lifts to execute: the bold rotational lift, followed by the stationary lift that carried them into their final pose.

Draco passed Hermione around his torso in head in time to the brass instruments before leading them to the center of the ice. There, he spun in a circle, holding Hermione perpendicular to his body as Frank Sinatra belted out his final note.

When the song finally ended with Hermione dipped deep in his arms, no one needed to tell him how well they'd done. He knew, somehow, that they'd just done one of their best Short Dances to date.

Remus had told them specifically that he wanted people to remember this performance, and judging by the way the crowd was cheering, Draco was sure that they would.

He and Hermione, still grinning, hugged each other before taking their bows.

The grinning didn't stop, even as they left the ice, Hermione hugging a pleased Severus while Draco dove onto the soft barrier in pure elation. It didn't stop when he collected his water bottle and took grateful sips. It didn't stop when Severus clapped him on the back and led them to the Kiss and Cry Station.

Their grins only got wider when their scores were announced.

83.62 points. _A world record._

Tomorrow, they'd be performing late again.

Tomorrow, they might have a shot at the podium.

Hope flared in his chest like it hadn't in months. They actually stood a chance—a _real_ chance at walking away with a medal. Draco forced himself to think that same thought over and over in his head, trying to make it feel more real. A glance at Hermione showed that she was also struggling with disbelief. She was blinking rapidly with furrowed brows as she processed it all. But when she looked up and their eyes met, he saw the same fire that he'd seen when they were kids, the day he'd seen her skate to The Princess Diaries Waltz and they'd been matched.

Hermione wanted to win. So did he. And now, that was a very real possibility.

Still, they were only halfway through their Olympic journey. There was still one more performance to give tomorrow. As much as Draco wanted to throw his hands in the air and grab a bottle of champagne to celebrate, it wasn't time yet.

Four years ago, they'd been in this same position: on top of the world after performing their Short Dance. That was before everything came crashing down around them. Before he dropped Hermione in the middle of their Free Dance.

There was still plenty of time for mistakes, but this go round, Draco was going to make sure that they didn't happen.

Severus asked them to do one final run-through of their Free Dance in the practise arena that evening after dinner. He and Hermione took to the ice, with both Viktor and their coach watching. In the three months they'd been rehearsing this number, it had quickly become Draco's favourite performance to date. He wasn't entirely sure if he could fully articulate why. Perhaps it was the way they'd incorporated acrobatic techniques into the lifts. Or perhaps it was because he'd never felt so close to his partner during all the early mornings and late nights at the rink.

All Draco knew was that every second of this dance felt like fate. With the way their bodies moved perfectly in sync, there was no way it could be anything _but_ fate.

"Thoughts?" Draco asked between sips of water when the music faded and they made their way back to where their coach was waiting for them. "Lay 'em on us. What do you have on that clipboard of yours?"

Severus looked down his nose at Draco before turning his clipboard around. It was blank.

"If the judges don't put you on that podium tomorrow, I'd say they're certifiably insane." Severus's eyebrow twitched as he offered a rare smile. "The whole routine is the kind of thing that you dream of seeing on the ice. The midline non-touch step sequence in particular was sublime."

"Did you… just offer us praise?" Draco nearly coughed as he choked out the words. "Has the world gone upside down or something?"

"I am merely giving credit where credit is due. And… it is due."

Draco shot a smirk at Hermione. "Are we sure this is the real Severus Snape here?"

Severus placed his empty clipboard onto a nearby bench and scrunched his face up for a moment, as though he was bracing himself to smell something unpleasant. When he spoke, however, there was nothing unpleasant about his words.

"When I took this job, coaching you two all those years ago, I did it because Lucius and Narcissa were old acquaintances. I am not ashamed to say that I was not interested in a personal capacity. After the kind of career I had on the ice, coaching two little brats who weren't even old enough to join the junior leagues wasn't exactly my preference." He paused and smirked. "I did _not_ want to be stuck as a kiddie coach until I croaked."

Beside him, Hermione giggled.

"But I have to say, despite the fact that the two of you probably shaved a few years off my life with all you've put me through, being your coach for the past seventeen years has been the honour of my life."

Severus didn't get teary-eyed like some other people might. Like Hermione was now. His voice didn't waver and he didn't reach out to embrace them. He simply made extended eye contact, first with Hermione, then with him.

Although he didn't say another word, his eyes spoke for him.

_I want you to succeed. I care about you now._

Draco privately wondered if Severus had just used his lifetime quota of kind words.

"Right, then. Off to bed, the both of you. I don't need to tell you how important tomorrow is."

There was an air of finality in Severus's words that Draco had learned long ago was not to be negotiated. Their coach departed for his own accommodations while he and Hermione packed up their skates.

Their trek back to the Olympic Village was brisk and nearly silent, though not in a way that made his toes curl with discomfort. It was comfortable, walking beside Hermione in the dark stillness of the mountains. A few athletes were out and about. Some were clearly drunk, partying after their own events wrapped up. Several languages danced past Draco's ears as they made their way into the high-rise complex.

Tonight would be much the same as last night. They'd sleep separately, doing their best to get any sleep at all. They still had to stick to the routine. Any deviation was still out of the question.

"See you at six?" Hermione asked as they stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the fourteenth floor. "Breakfast then bus over, like today?"

Draco nodded. "Sounds good to me."

They fell silent again, the mechanical sounds of the elevator moving upward and its steady dings after passing each new floor filled their ears instead. Faintly, outside some floors, they could hear the sounds of people having fun, singing or chatting or listening to music.

What a strange, wonderful place to be—this microcosm where people from all over the world had come together to compete. Draco wanted to soak in everything about these days like a sponge. The sounds, smells, sights, textures, tastes... so he could always remember what it felt like to be on the precipice of greatness at the Olympics.

It was such a massive thing to take in and process.

The elevator dinged one final time and the doors opened to reveal a quiet corridor.

The closer theys stepped toward their rooms, a new thought floated through Draco's mind. Somehow, this particular thought seemed even bigger than his dreams of Olympic gold.

Tonight, he and Hermione would part ways in front of their rooms. They would brush their teeth alone, shower alone, and sleep alone. Tomorrow morning, they would wake up alone.

But Draco knew, deep inside, that this would be the last time.

Tomorrow, regardless of the outcome, the pressure would lift. Their career would continue on their terms. Or… not. Whatever they decided, it would be up to the two of them. Together.

Tomorrow, Draco wouldn't have to say goodnight outside of Hermione's door. He'd keep her in his bed not just tomorrow, but for as long as she'd let him.

They'd never have to be apart again.

That was the thought that kept Draco calm as he squeezed her hand and went into his room. It was also that thought that helped him to drift off to sleep peacefully.

The roar of the crowd from just beyond the doors was deafening. Even with all the insulation muffling it, Draco knew that the audience was going wild for Fleur and Roger's routine.

He shifted his weight back and forth between his feet and tried to keep his breathing steady.

He also tried not to think about the fact that the legacy of their career would be decided in the next ten minutes.

Beside him, Hermione stretched her calf one last time.

They'd been backstage for over three hours waiting for their turn to skate. Having the highest score going into the Free Dance competition meant that they were performing last. The judges would have seen every other couple before them, and they were scheduled to be the grand finale.

Draco struggled to remember how to breathe.

When Severus appeared at the door to usher them into the arena, Draco forced himself to put one foot in front of the other. Hermione took his hand and squeezed, and they stepped into the open space together.

Fleur and Roger were already making their way to the Kiss and Cry station while several young skaters went around picking up flowers and stuffies that fans had thrown to them. French flags littered the stands as their friends took their place in the corner to receive their scores.

But that was not his concern. Not yet, at least. Right now, the only thing—the only person he needed to focus on was right in front of him.

"How are you doing?" he asked as she removed her blade covers.

"Good. Ready. You?"

Shallow breath in. Shallow breath out.

"Same. Ready. Are you nervous?" Draco ducked down to remove his own blade covers.

Hermione furrowed her brow for a moment, as if considering. She then reached to her left to unscrew her water bottle. "You know, I actually don't think I am. At least… I don't think so."

After taking a sip, she set the bottle back down and took a tentative step toward him. Sensing her intentions, Draco wrapped his arms around her. Her head laid against his chest, and he knew she was listening to the rapid thumping of his heart.

Standing together like this, the noises all around them seemed to fade away. He tried to tune them out, at least. In the back of his mind, Draco knew that there were probably cameras on them. He knew that there were fans recording this interaction on their phones. But he couldn't bring himself to care. Not when his whole world was in his arms. He had a feeling that Hermione felt the same.

"I don't feel nervous because I know I've got you," she murmured into him. "I'm ready to show the world who we've become."

Draco pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "And what's that?"

"Us."

It was such a small word, so unassuming and obvious, even. But Hermione was right. He was ready, too. Ready to be part of an 'us.'

Draco leaned down and covered his mouth with his hand to offer them a bit of privacy. "Just us?" he questioned, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

She nodded, loving eyes trained on his once he'd pulled back. "Just us."

Around them, the crowd started cheering. French flags began waving in earnest. Fleur and Roger's scores were likely just announced, and they probably did well.

It was time.

Severus gave them a solemn nod as one of the Olympic workers opened the barrier for them. As they skated out to the center of the ice, French flags were replaced with Union Jacks. Draco wasn't entirely sure how it was possible, but the arena seemed even louder than it had for their predecessors.

Somewhere in this crowd were his parents, though he chose not to dwell on that.

Somewhere, there was a young child who would see them perform and demand ice skating lessons.

Somewhere, Hermione's mum was out there, waving a homemade poster like always.

Somewhere, though Draco couldn't exactly say where, her dad was there as well. He might not have been in the stands, but he was there in the smile that radiated off Hermione's face as they took their positions.

She looked incandescent in her lilac-coloured dress. And her hair… never before had she wore it down to skate. It was always in a bun. Always. Until now. It fell across her shoulders in wild curls underneath a half-ponytail. It was impossible not to be completely enamoured by her.

The second they were off the ice, he would tell her.

But for now…

A hush fell over the crowd as they were announced in all three official languages.

In the silence that followed, Draco swore he could hear their heartbeats echoing across the ice.

The song started like it always did, with a lone man's voice carrying across the room.

Draco took a step toward Hermione, and the story began.

He took the lead at first, starting them off slowly. He was the one pursuing, but his touches were tentative. They took their first lap around the ice with Hermione purposefully looking away, avoiding his desperate pleas of love.

But the moment she finally turned her head, he led her into the first lift, hoisting her and spinning.

It was then that their eyes truly met for the first time. And it was also then that Draco knew this dance wasn't just a performance for today. It was the same dance they'd been doing since they were eleven years-old. Their lives together were one, never-ending dance, and as he looked into Hermione's eyes during that lift, he could see their whole lives laid out before them, full of longing and hope and love.

By now, he knew that he was mouthing the lyrics, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Let the world know he was singing to Hermione. Let them all know exactly how he felt.

_So why don't we rewrite the stars?_

_Maybe the world could be ours tonight._

Draco's hand cradled Hermione's face in his palm, and to him, it felt like the most intimate moment they'd ever had on the ice. More than any sultry number they'd performed. More intimate, even, than their _God Only Knows_ routine.

Because this moment—this whole performance—was all about them. Their story. Draco felt raw vulnerability stretch across his skin as they started another lap around the ice, but that was exactly how he needed to feel to show his true connection with Hermione.

And then the verses changed. The shift in their skating was subtle, but noticeable to anyone really looking. No longer was Draco the one pursuing with desperate longing. Hermione, instead, began to push back against him.

In this story—their story—Hermione was the one to keep them from being together. Yet, although her arms kept them firmly apart, her eyes were soft and deep and full of the same desperate affection.

They'd danced just outside each other's peripheries for years, and that's exactly what they did now, always close but never close enough to be satisfied.

When they finally connected again, it was into another, bigger lift sequence, Draco passed Hermione around his body, and despite her hesitation, she clung to him as though her life depended on it.

The song only built from there, and Draco could feel the chills coursing through his body. They were identical to the chills that he felt months ago when he heard the song for the first time with Hermione by his side.

The moment Hermione's blades touched the ice, they built toward their twizzle sequence. Draco's heart was beating in his throat. He heard nothing but the song, saw nothing but Hermione. His whole world was here on the ice. There was nowhere else—nothing else but this moment.

_All I want is to fly with you…_

_All I want is to fall with you…_

_So just give me all of you..._

He and Hermione were perfectly in sync. The connection Remus had talked about… it was completely palpable, permeating every muscle, every bone. They were moving together, breathing together as one.

Their skating sped up and Hermione leapt into his arms for their keystone lift. Her blade landed on his thigh and she balanced there for a moment, lifting her arms and leaning her neck back in a way that looked so graceful, so effortless, Draco knew that anyone watching them now would be just as enchanted as him. He passed her overhead and held her aloft. Even from this strange vantage point, she radiated beauty, every inch of her.

As if on cue, the crowd around them erupted. The sounds of cheers carried across the music, and it only drove his concentration more. They were so close. This had been the moment when they had failed four years ago, and Draco would be damned if that happened again.

But in his heart, he knew it wouldn't. Gazing up at Hermione, she truly looked like she was flying, arms outstretched and gliding on the air. Draco's thighs burned as he sank deeper in his stance, but he remained steady.

When Hermione dismounted and her blades touched the ice once more, Draco felt a wave of relief and euphoria crash over him. This was the kind of moment he lived for on the ice. The moment where it all went right, when everything lined up to create something flawless.

Even if they didn't win, this was their triumph. It was better than any medal around his neck.

Draco couldn't help the grin that stretched across his face as they transitioned straight into the final stretch of the song.

They weren't keeping their distance anymore, but instead, their bodies were pulled close as they traveled around the ice. He felt the muscles in Hermione's back shift beneath his fingertips as he led her around one final loop.

They finally came back to the centre of the ice, Draco pulled Hermione into one final lift, rotating on the spot and sinking down as he cradled Hermione in his arms. When he stood again and placed Hermione on her feet, the song began to fade away, reduced only to a single, feminine voice.

Draco pulled Hermione close for the final pose. He leaned his forehead against hers, her hands clasped in his.

And then it was over.

It took a bit for it all to sink in. His chest was heaving, as was Hermione's. But they didn't move away. Not yet. Draco could feel Hermione's hot breath mingling with his own, and for what felt like several long seconds, it was all they could do to stay just like that, staring into each other's eyes, searching, reaching for the truth of the moment.

The truth was this: They'd done it. They'd actually done it. Skated in the Olympics and done it, not for the fame or the glory, but for themselves.

And they were met with thunderous applause for it.

Before Draco could even think about what was supposed to come next, his arms closed around Hermione's waist and he pulled her into a tight hug. He heard her gasp slightly when their bodies collided, and knew that the reality of it all was likely still sinking in for her. He shut his eyes tightly and buried his face in the crook of her neck, and he felt her do the same. They were practically clinging to each other, searching for an anchor in this new world.

When he pulled back, she was shaking, eyes wide and mouth hanging open in disbelief. Her hands came together to cover that mouth, but even though he couldn't see her smile, he could see it in the way her eyes shone.

It was then that he knew. They both knew. There were no numbers yet, but there was a shared exhilaration circulating between them.

Draco couldn't help himself. He took a step back and whooped for joy, throwing his whole body into the feeling.

Hermione still stood there, mouth covered, eyes searching his for confirmation that this was real. That it was actually happening. That they were standing in the middle of the Olympic ice rink surrounded by the wildest applause they'd ever received, and they'd somehow pulled it off. Together.

In one swift movement, Draco closed the gap between them, lifting Hermione off her feet and pulling her into the tightest hug he'd ever given her. She laughed in his ear. His hand traveled up her bare back to find refuge at the base of her neck. He cradled her head as though she were the most precious thing in the world.

Slowly, Draco's mind became more aware of reality. The cries of the crowd were growing louder in his ears. He saw dozens of gifts flying all around his head as fans tossed them onto the ice. They had to take their bows, but he wasn't quite ready. Not yet.

After pulling back and grinning like idiots at each other one last time, Draco leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Hermione's cheek. Before he did something stupid and actually kiss her, he stepped back, twirling Hermione so they could perform their bows.

As they made their way to each direction, Draco couldn't help but notice that nearly everyone was on their feet.

They made their way back to the edge of the ice, and even from a distance, he could see Severus giving off an energy unlike anything they'd ever seen before. Their coach actually looked excited.

Another burst of euphoria overtook Draco. He skated just ahead and threw the soft barrier open with a growl. To his surprise, Hermione dove right into Severus's arms. The man seemed a bit taken aback at first, but seemed to welcome the affection easily enough.

They were led over to the Kiss and Cry Station as a silly pop song filled the arena. Draco took grateful sips from a water bottle with one hand. The other held fast to Hermione's hand. Their fingers laced together and didn't break apart, even when they sat down on the bench in front of a camera that would broadcast their reaction to the world.

He hadn't been nervous before, but his stomach chose now to roil with anxiety. This was it.

Draco wasn't sure what else to think.

Hermione's hand was his anchor, keeping him from floating away into the vast unknown that would come once the scores were called. There were so many unanswered questions. So much he hadn't figured out, regardless of whether a medal was in their future.

For the very first time, he felt the tendrils of fear tighten their grip around him.

But just as that fear came, it washed away. Hermione's free hand rested on his knee and squeezed. It was as if she was trying to tell him that it would all be okay. That they'd be fine, no matter what numbers were called.

Draco's heart stuttered inside his chest.

No matter what happened, they'd finally be free. Free to just be themselves, together.

That, in of itself, was worth more than any gold medal. To finally have Hermione in his arms. To be able to belong to each other without reservation.

He reached over and squeezed her knee and they shared a small smile.

The female voice began to speak above the crowd.

" _Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy have earned in the Free Dance… 122.43 points."_

The crowd around them erupted.

Draco squinted up at the display screen, trying to make sense of the numbers.

" _They have achieved a total of 206.05—"_

Beside him, Hermione's hands flew to her face as she gasped.

Draco leaned further forward, as if this would somehow help him hear the announcer.

" _And they are currently in—"_

Deep breath.

"— _first place."_

"Yes!" Draco cried as he leapt to his feet. He slammed his hands down onto the barrier before lifting Hermione off her feet from where she still sat on the bench. They clung to each other once again, and Draco couldn't tell who was shaking more.

He knew there were cameras on him, recording his every move, but he simply didn't care.

They had done it. A gold medal. A fucking gold medal.

And it was all thanks to the incredible woman in his arms.

As the announcer told that the ice dancing event was now concluded, Draco finally let Hermione down, though his eyes never left hers.

And as much as they had to do in the next few minutes, all Draco could think of was kissing her.

Not caring who would come after them with a clipboard or whistle, he took Hermione by the hand the moment he knew the cameras weren't facing them any longer. She briefly shot him a confused look, but followed him nonetheless. Together they bobbed and weaved past reporters and other skaters until Draco found one of the doors that led backstage. Without stopping to think or even to breathe, Draco pushed the door open, pulling Hermione inside after him. The moment it shut behind them, he wrapped his arms around her once again.

"We did it, Draco," Hermione whispered to him, their foreheads touching much as they had at the end of their dance. "I can't believe it. _Gold._ Oh, I just can't… I can't believe it."

There were a thousand things Draco could have said in that moment, each more cliché than the last. But words weren't enough for this moment. Words couldn't capture what he needed to express.

And so, without delay or hesitation, Draco's hands cupped Hermione's face. Although he had just been touching her, this touch felt worlds apart. Her skin was so soft beneath his fingertips.

He gently stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. All the while, his eyes never left hers. He was almost afraid that if he looked away or even blinked, all this would fade away. It felt like the kind of dream that he would try desperately to recall only seconds after waking.

But it wasn't a dream. This was all very, very real. They had won the gold medal. But more than that, they were here, _together_ , and their deadline had finally expired. There was nothing stopping them from closing the gap they'd put between themselves for four years.

Terror swooped in Draco's stomach. But it wasn't the kind that made him freeze up or have doubts.

No, this was the kind of terror that he was meant to feel right before he made the biggest leap of his life—like diving off a steep cliff into the unknown. But then, perhaps it wasn't terror after all. Because Hermione wasn't blinking either, and in the depths of her eyes, Draco saw the only thing he needed to know that he was home.

Love.

_Love, love, love._

"I love you." The words slipped easily from his tongue. "And I'm going to kiss you now."

Hermione's "okay," barely slipped from her tongue before his lips descended on hers. They were just as soft, just as warm as he remembered. Pliant under the pressure from his own lips and oh, so sweet. Draco's heart thumped erratically inside his chest, giving into the utter wildness of the past few minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What. A. Journey. 
> 
> Describing those dances was really difficult and I hope I did it justice. I wanted you to all to be able to create as much of a routine in your minds as possible. 
> 
> And is that an emotional Severus I spy? 
> 
> THEY KISSED. I screamed to myself when I wrote that last little bit. 
> 
> This note is all over the place. 
> 
> If you would like the link to the Subtle Perfection version of Luck Be A Lady, the link is still in the endnotes of the last chapter (31). 
> 
> Just two chapters left. How? Didn't I JUST start posting this?
> 
> Thank you all for your continued love for this weird little fic idea. Your encouraging words mean the entire world to me.

**Author's Note:**

> See you next Wednesday!
> 
> Drop a comment if you feel so inclined - I hope you'll subscribe and join me for the ride!


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